Hitomebore
by bjont
Summary: World-famous pop idol Atobe Keigo has everything he's ever needed. But when Sanada Genichiroh, a stoic, strict, and traditional high school tennis star stumbles into the picture, Atobe finds that his perfect life has never been more completely incomplete.
1. Chapter 1

Hi! Well, in celebration of Sanada's birthday, I bring you the first chapter of my first real Tango Pair AU, **Hitomebore**. The title translates into "love at first sight," which I thought fitted this in a nicely understated sort of way. In any case, this story is the polar opposite of **Counting Days**, and I've never written anything quite like it, so I hope you'll all enjoy it.

And before I shut up, I'd like to thank acantabloom for going over this first chapter with me. You really helped me smooth out the kinks and I greatly appreciate it!

And now, without further ado... **Hitomebore**!

* * *

Sanada watched, mesmerized, as the singer strode gracefully across the stage, shaking beads of sweat from his silver locks. He grabbed the guitar a stagehand presented to him, slinging the strap over his shoulder in one fluid movement and striking a flawless chord, before making his way back to the microphone. Closing his eyes, he lifted a slender arm, holding it high above his head. The entire arena fell silent, and Sanada could feel Marui quivering in anticipation beside him.

"Here it comes," the pink-haired boy whispered, hopping up and down in excitement. "He always closes with Energeia." Sanada turned back to the stage, trying his best to conceal his own feelings of elation. As fukubuchou once again, he had a responsibility to remain calm and collected, no matter what the situation may be. He glanced over at Yukimura, who was standing, arms folded elegantly across his chest, smiling serenely as usual. Yes, Sanada decided, this was no time to lose his composure.

Onstage, Atobe Keigo was still holding his arm straight, eyes closed in concentration. Sweat dripped down his porcelain skin, and his thin, long-sleeved shirt clung to his back. Taking a deep breath, he flexed his fingers across the fret-board of his guitar before lowering his arm, the opening chord of his final song nearly drowned out by the screams of the crowd.

--

"That was thoroughly enjoyable," Yukimura said, smiling, as they piled out of the stadium. "Wouldn't you agree, Genichiroh?"

"Ah." Sanada nodded, finding Yukimura's hand and intertwining their fingers. "He was very talented."

"Hehh? Sanada, I wouldn't expect you to enjoy something like that. You're usually too boring," Niou drawled.

"Niou-kun, that's rude," Yagyuu reprimanded, reaching to adjust his glasses. "And your point is a moot one, for I found the concert to my liking, and you are well aware of my taste in music.

"Yeah," Niou snorted, "and it's awful."

"You just proved yourself wrong, Niou-senpai," Kirihara pointed out, earning a gentle punch from the trickster.

"Shuddup seaweed-head, what the hell does a little baby like you know about anything?" he teased, ruffling the second-year's hair.

"'Mura-buchou," Kirihara whined, "Niou-senpai's being mean!"

"Niou, leave Akaya alone. Akaya, don't provoke your senpai," Yukimura warned.

"It was too bad he didn't play Existence," Marui commented, popping another bubble. "That's one of my favorites."

"I liked the song he opened with," Jackal offered. "What's that one called?"

"Broken," Marui replied. "Want the CD?"

"Perhaps." Jackal agreed. "That might be nice."

"Yeah, well, I liked that song where he rapped!" Kirihara exclaimed, hurrying to catch up with Marui. "Which one was that? Can I have the CD, too, Marui-senpai?"

"Why should I give it to you? You ate my birthday present, remember? I don't think you deserve it."

"Please? And that wasn't my fault, Niou-senpai said you had left it for me!"

"And you believed him?"

Kirihara frowned and nodded, crossing his arms.

"Akaya, you should know by now that there's a 93 percent chance that anything Niou offers you will ultimately turn out to belong to someone else."

"Ah, Renji, I was wondering where you'd gone to," Yukimura said, smiling.

"Gathering some data, and..." Yanagi fished around in his bag, finally pulling out a couple of discs. "Getting these. I'll burn everyone who needs one a copy."

"Waah, Yanagi-senpai's the best!" Kirihara cried, snatching the CDs from the data-master's hands. "Shoot Down, that's what it was called! 'You say, everybody needs somebody to love, mirai wo tsukamu tashika na Insight dare ni mo uranu kokoro no Inside...'" he began singing, clicking the discs together in time to the song.

"Akaya, it's impolite to grab," Sanada said, frowning. "Return the discs to Renji and thank him for offering to burn a copy for you."

"Fine... Sorry, Yanagi-senpai," Kirihara handed the CDs back, pouting. "And thank you for offering copies to me."

"You're welcome, Akaya," Renji replied, slipping the discs back into his bag. "Anyway, I discovered some rather surprising things about Atobe."

"Oh, like what?" Jackal asked, turning around. Marui whipped around as well, hands on his hips.

"Nothing that I don't know, I bet," he declared. "My genius isn't reserved for the courts. When it comes to Atobe Keigo, I know everything there is to know. His birthday's October 4th, but he's managed to keep his age a secret, which is awesome, isn't it? Anyway, his blood type is A, and he's 175 centimeters tall, exactly the same as you, 'Mura! But, the coolest part is, he's an empath," Marui exclaimed, sounding utterly awe-struck.

"That's quite impressive, Marui," Yanagi commented. "Much of the information I gathered today is similar, although I would consider his status as an empath to be something of an exaggeration, and I'm sure that with significant analyzation of his voice and build, one could closely determine his approximate age. I did learn of one trait you seem to be unaware of, however. He's very fond of sports, and has tentative plans to attend the upcoming tennis tournament, in which we'll be playing." Marui's mouth dropped open.

"Are you kidding, Yanagi?"

"No."

"I'm sure he'll end up having better things to do," Sanada remarked, squeezing Yukimura's hand. "Don't get your hopes up, Marui." Yukimura squeezed back, and gave him a soft smile.

"Of course, there's always the chance," he countered. "Wouldn't that be an honor, to play before someone so accomplished?"

"Ah," Sanada agreed, running a finger down the bus stop's timetable before glancing up. "Here's our bus."

"Oh, excellent," Yukimura said, smiling. He turned to face the rest of his team, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "Don't forget, morning practice starts an hour earlier tomorrow. I'll see you all then." He stepped onto the bus. Sanada followed, but paused halfway up the stairs.

"Don't be late, or you'll run," he ordered, before disappearing after Yukimura.

"Bye, Yukimura-buchou," Kirihara shouted, waving furiously. Yanagi lifted his hand in a silent farewell, before turning to face the rest of the team.

"Come on, Akaya, we'll ride the train together."

"All right, Yanagi-senpai," Kirihara replied. The pair set off toward the station, Kirihara talking nonstop and Yanagi nodding to fill the gaps.

Jackal, Marui, Niou, and Yagyuu wandered off not too long after, chatting amiably about the possibilities of Atobe appearing at their next match, and whether or not he'd be suitably impressed by the fact that while they weren't world-famous singers, they were quite good at tennis and had managed to hold regular positions since middle school.

"Not that he would know that," Yagyuu reminded them, and Marui sighed, nodding in agreement.

"Ah well, the best we can do is play our hardest," Jackal reasoned, earning a general grunt of consensus.

"Whew, but hell," Niou whistled, "I'd like to see Atobe play tennis. He would look damn hot in a pair of little white shorts, huh, Yagyuu?"

"That's a bit vulgar, Niou-kun," the bespectacled boy replied, but the way his glasses glinted in the moonlight suggested that he wasn't completely opposed to the idea.

--

The bus was relatively deserted, so Sanada and Yukimura had been able to locate a pair of seats near the back. They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, before Yukimura chuckled slightly and glanced at Sanada, his eyes twinkling.

"You're surprisingly good at faking enthusiasm, Genichiroh," he said, smiling.

"What do you mean?" Sanada asked, knitting his brows together in a frown. Yukimura raised his eyebrows.

"So you really enjoyed the concert?" he asked. Sanada nodded. "Oh," Yukimura said, sitting back in his seat. He glanced at Sanada again after a moment. "I assumed you had caught on and were humoring the team with me."

"I don't understand," Sanada said, his frown deepening. "Didn't you like it, too?" Yukimura laughed again.

"No," he replied. "But I knew Marui and Kirihara were fans, so I didn't want to disappoint them by not liking it."

Sanada nodded slowly. "Oh, I see."

"Well, I'm glad you had fun," Yukimura said, smiling up at him. "It's good for you to get out. You're so serious all the time, Genichiroh."

Sanada shrugged and relaxed into his seat. He couldn't count the number of times Yukimura had told him that. "You're too serious, Genichiroh." "Lighten up sometimes, Genichiroh!" "Enjoy life while you can, Genichiroh." He frowned slightly. He couldn't help the way he was. He took what mattered to him seriously. He didn't want to fail. He didn't want to let anybody down. Especially not Yukimura.

--

Atobe sighed and ran a hand over the latches of his guitar case, ensuring that they were properly closed before handing the case to a stagehand.

"That was a great show, Atobe-sama," the boy breathed, bowing as he accepted the guitar.

"As usual," Atobe agreed, pulling his sweat-soaked shirt over his head and tossing onto the floor. "Have someone bring me another shirt, will you?"

"Of course!" the boy cried, running off. Atobe slumped against an amp, closing his eyes and releasing a long sigh.

"Ten down, three more to go," he muttered.

"Yes, but a whole two weeks here in Tokyo," a voice interjected. "Oh, and before I forget, are you going to that tennis tournament on Wednesday, yes or no? I need to confirm with the manager of the event. There's talk of having you perform before the final match, but I don't want to stress your vocal chords before the next concert. If you can win over the Londoners, we'll be in excellent shape."

"I want to go," Atobe replied, massaging his temples. "And I'm not singing. It's tennis, not a football game, Oshitari. There is no half time show, and having me sing before the final match would simply be stressful for the players. Tennis is as much a psychological game as it is physical. It's best not to have too much time to think before a match."

"Well, well, aren't you just the little tennis genius," Oshitari drawled, pulling out his mobile. "I'll tell them you're coming, then, but refuse to sing. Happy?"

"Very. Which is good, considering that as my manager, it's your job to make sure I am," Atobe replied, rolling his eyes. "Who is playing on Wednesday? Anyone I would care about?"

"A few high school teams," Oshitari replied. "The current favorite is some school called Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku. The E.M. said we should watch out for four kids in particular–"

"I wouldn't call them kids, Oshitari," Atobe interrupted. "They're probably my age, and you're only four years older."

"You make me feel so old, Keigo," Oshitari chuckled. "In any case, do you want to know who these four kids are, or not?" Atobe gave a lazy nod, and Oshitari continued, rolling his eyes. "From Rikkaidai, the supposed 'Child of God,' Yukimura Seiichi. He's also captain of the team, and supposedly invincible. His vice captain, Sanada Genichiroh, is known as the 'Emperor,' and rumored to be equally undefeatable. Impressive, hmm?" Atobe shrugged. "Well, continuing on. Yanagi Renji, the 'Data-Master,' and finally, Kirihara Akaya, who has earned the nickname, 'The Devil.' I'm still not entirely sure if that's good or not."

"Could go either way, I suppose," Atobe replied, before stretching and pushing himself off the amp. "It doesn't mean that much to me. More importantly, can we leave yet? What the hell is taking so long?" Oshitari lifted his shoulders in a shrug and pulled a second phone out of his pocket. Dialing quickly, he lifted it to his ear and started toward the stage. Suddenly, he paused and turned back, a sly smile etched onto his face.

"They're probably still in the dressing room. I heard Shishido shouting something about Mukahi stepping on his guitars. And before you appear before the eyes of your adoring public, you might want to put a shirt on," he suggested. "You wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation as an untouchable god." Atobe scowled and chucked a headset at him, which he easily dodged.

"Asshole," he muttered, before setting off to find the rest of his band mates himself. As he turned a corner, a stagehand barreled into him, knocking him off balance. Atobe grabbed a guitar stand to stable himself and glowered at the young boy, who was sitting on the floor, looking slightly surprised.

"Oh, Atobe-sama!" he exclaimed, regaining his senses and jumping to his feet. He thrust a shirt into the pop star's hands, bowing deeply. "I'm so sorry! I went into the dressing room looking for you, but Shishido-san and Mukahi-san were throwing things at each other, so I had to run out, but Jiroh-san was sleeping in front of the door, so I tripped over him on my way out and crashed-"

"That's enough," Atobe hissed, pulling the shirt over his head. "You're excused." The boy nodded and bowed again before running off. Atobe stalked toward the dressing room, wrenching open the door. As he did so, a sweat-soaked shirt landed with a resounding thwack on the top of his head, the sleeve hanging over his eyes. With a growl, Atobe threw the shirt to the ground and glared around the room.

"Everyone out, now."

* * *

All lyrics and song titles in this chapter are not mine. They are official Prince of Tennis soundtracks.

Reviews are awesome. **:)** (A little like the Tango Pair, right? Hah.)


	2. Chapter 2

Hi! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, it was much appreciated. :) I'm going to do my best to continue updating weekly. I would like to thank acantabloom again, who helped me out with this chapter, too. It has vastly improved thanks to all of the edits! :)

* * *

"The day of the tournament has finally arrived," Yukimura announced, gazing around at his team. "We have all trained hard for these matches, and, to be honest, I'm quite sure that our victory is inevitable. Work hard, play well, and do not lose. And Akaya, pay attention, please."

"But I'm looking for Atobe," he whined, continuing to scan the bleachers. "Does anyone see him yet?"

"Akaya," Sanada snapped, "stop interrupting and listen to your captain."

"Thank you, Genichiroh. Now, Niou, Yagyuu, you will be playing doubles two," Yukimura announced, crossing his arms across his chest. "And Yagyuu, don't reach for your eyes so often. Niou doesn't wear glasses. It gives you away."

"Ehh? Yukimura-buchou, how'd you know?" Niou exclaimed. Yukimura chuckled.

"It's crucial for a captain to know his team, Niou," he replied.

"No one else could tell," Niou grumbled, giving Yagyuu a shove. "Way to go, Hiroshi. Giving us away like that."

Yukimura shook his head, laughing. "Your façade is just as flawed, Niou. Now, stop bickering and go get us the first win. And remember," he called as they started off, "play it up. You never know, Atobe might be watching!"

"Of course, of course," Yagyuu, Niou, to everyone but Yukimura, agreed, and started off toward the court. Niou followed, still grumbling.

"And next time, tellus when you're planning on switching!" Kirihara shouted, scowling.

Marui grinned and popped a bubble. "Wow, Akaya," he drawled, "way to ruin the whole point of the switch. Stupid. Anyway, I hope being found out doesn't throw Niou-the-Yagyuu off his game," he observed, licking his lips to check for stray flecks of gum.

"It won't," Yukimura replied, from where he was perched on the coach's bench. "It will further his concentration."

"By 67 percent, approximately," Yanagi added. "Yagyuu's concentration will also increase, although less so, since he is naturally more focused than Niou 86 percent of the time."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm no good in mathematics. Your numbers piss me off," Marui grumbled, turning to fish a pastry out from within his bag. "Unless, of course," he continued, mouth full, "they can find Atobe. Has anyone even seen him yet? I keep checking the stands, but I haven't seen..."

"Right there," Yanagi interrupted, gesturing across the court. "He arrived just a few moments ago. I'm surprised you didn't notice. Although it was a relatively quiet appearance, considering his status."

"Ah, I see him! I see him!" Marui exclaimed, latching onto Jackal in delight. "Do you, Jackal? Look, right there, right there!" He pointed excitedly.

"Marui, it's rude to point," Sanada said, frowning. He had noticed Atobe, a fact which he found somewhat surprising. He wasn't the most observant person when he wasn't on the courts, and rarely noticed anything that didn't happen directly in front of his face. But something in his gut had tugged his vision across the court, and there Atobe had been, settling into a chair between a large man Sanada suspected was a bodyguard, and a slender, bespectacled, well-dressed fellow with shoulder-length hair and an air of importance Sanada could sense even from where he sat.

"Yo, Yanagi, who are those people he's with?" Kirihara asked, squinting across the court.

"To the left is the only bodyguard Atobe will tolerate. Kabaji Munehiro, if I remember correctly. And on his right is his manager, Oshitari Yuushi."

"Wow," Marui breathed, taking another bite of cake. "Awesome."

"The match is starting," Sanada cut in. "Pay attention."

"It's difficult to pay attention when there's a rock star sitting mere feet away from you," Kirihara replied, frowning. "Can I go get his autograph?"

"No," Sanada thundered, rising and crossing his arms, ignoring the slight throbbing in his head that accompanied the movement. "Absolutely not. You are not to leave these stands, especially not for something so ridiculously inappropriate. It would be rude to your senpais and rude to Atobe-san, who is probably trying to enjoy the match. I suggest you do the same."

"Fine," Kirihara grumbled, slumping back into his seat. "It's not like this is going to be a difficult match, anyway. Look. They've already broken serve."

They had, Sanada noted, glancing at the scoreboard. One game to love, Rikkai leading. The current score was 30-love, Yagyuu (Niou) serving. Their opponents looked utterly winded, and their eyes were wide in disbelief. Across the court, there was a flurry of movement, and Sanada looked up in time to see Atobe slide out of his chair and reach for a bag on the ground. He eventually pulled out something Sanada soon recognized as a notebook, and settled back into his seat. He began scribbling, glancing up at the match every now and then when the crowd cheered particularly loudly after a clever play.

Sanada frowned. However one-sided this match may be, it was rude to ignore the players' efforts so blatantly. Leaning back, he crossed his arms. If it was interesting play Atobe wanted, he'd certainly discover it in Marui and Jackal's combination. In any case, he also had no idea that Niou and Yagyuu had switched places.

"Naive," Sanada muttered, before wincing and flexing his calf muscle. It had stung for a moment. As he rubbed the throbbing muscle, his gaze wandered back to the pop star. He had paused in his writing and was conferring with Oshitari, if Sanada remembered his name correctly. Atobe was smirking and his silver hair fell in strands around his eyes. Sanada suddenly found himself strangely fascinated by the way Atobe's locks caught the sunlight, and between wondering if his hair color was natural and whether or not it would feel as smooth as Yukimura's between his fingers, Sanada lost himself almost completely, until the referee's call of "Game, set, and match," shattered his train of thought.

"Won by Yagyuu-Niou pair. Six games to love." The pair strode off the court, grinning. Neither had even broken a sweat, and Niou pulled off his wig and glasses with a flourish, shaking his bangs out of his eyes. Yagyuu had also removed his wig, and was rummaging through his bag for his spectacles.

Atobe had noticed their antics, and was watching with an amused expression on his face as the two reverted back to their normal selves.

"Do you see that, Oshitari?" he asked, jerking his head at the pair across the court. "They played as each other. Interesting, although to be honest, I don't see the point. If their opponents aren't aware of the fact that they switched until the end of the game, the psychological damage caused is useless to the actual game. It just rubs the defeat in the losing side's face, which is hardly good sportsmanship," Atobe said, flipping his notebook closed. "I hope the next match is more interesting."

"I'm sure it will be," Oshitari drawled, fishing his phone out of his pocket and flipping it open. "Ootori-sensei wants to know how you're doing."

"Fine," Atobe snapped. "Does it look like there's anything wrong with me?"

"That could be debatable," Oshitari mumbled, his fingers deftly gliding over the buttons of his phone.

"God knows why I put up with you." Atobe scowled and sunk lower in his seat.

"Because I'm sexy as hell," Oshitari replied. "And stop acting like such a child. It's not good for your image. May I remind you that you are in public?"

"I'm aware of that fact," Atobe replied. "Now shut up, will you? The next match is starting."

--

"Impressive game, Marui, Jackal," Yukimura said, smiling as the pair approached him after completely dominating their match. "They only managed to steal four points from you."

"Four points too many," Jackal sighed, slipping the weights from his wrists. Marui shrugged.

"Total domination might've made them cry," he said. "Hey Akaya, did you notice if Atobe was watching?" he asked, glancing excitedly over at the pop star.

Kirihara nodded, reaching for his racket.

"Yeah. He looked more interested than he did during Niou-senpai and Yagyuu-senpai's match, I guess," he replied, shrugging. "But I'm up next, and he's about to be blown away. Whoever is unfortunate enough to be my opponent is about to realize my true power. If Atobe's watching, I'm not holding back!"

--

"The boy with the pink hair had amazing net play, and his partner had good spirit," Atobe decided, running a hand through his hair. "And this boy," he gestured to Kirihara, "plays well. He's passionate, and somewhat frightening. However..." He tapped his chin, watching the rally play out on the court below him. "They all lack the certain presence I enjoy in a tennis player. A competitor should be calm, collected, and commanding, yet passionate and willing to fight to the death. Unfortunately..." He sighed and leaned back in his seat. "It's a rare combination to come by. Nah, Kabaji?"

"Right," the large man agreed, nodding.

"Mm. Ah, he's won."

"Game, set, and match. Won by Kirihara Akaya. Six games to love. We will now begin the Singles Two match."

--

Sanada stepped onto the court, clutching his racket. Everything went fuzzy for a moment, and he stumbled slightly, before righting himself and assuming his position at the baseline. His legs felt weak, and as he gripped the ball in his left hand, his fingers ached.

"What's wrong with me?" he muttered, closing his eyes. _Could I be coming down with something? Or perhaps it's nerves... He shook his head slightly. He was never nervous before matches. But then again, I've never played in front of a world-famous pop idol, either... In any case, it's no matter. I can't let the team down. I can't let Yukimura down. _

His eyes snapped open, and he tossed the ball into the air, coiling back in preparation to serve. He would make this a quick game, and then rest. He'd felt fine back in the stands, save for a few discomforts. The dizziness had only begun when he had stood.

He slammed into his serve, sending the ball over the net and into the corner of the box. His opponent darted after it, making a weak connection with his racket and sending back a high lob that fell out by a good few feet.

"Fifteen, love!"

"Thirty, love!"

"Forty, love!"

"Game, Sanada. Change court!"

Sanada hurried over to the bench and took a long slug of water.

"Genichiroh, are you feeling alright?" Yukimura asked, handing him a towel. Sanada simply nodded in response and returned to the court. His head was throbbing now, and his throat felt dry and tight, despite the water. Across the net, his opponent was preparing to serve, bouncing the ball against the ground.

"Hurry up," Sanada grumbled, tugging at his cap.

The serve came moments later, slow in comparison to most of his opponents. He returned it with an easy, down-the-line shot, quickly earning himself the first point of the game.

_Good. If I continue this pace, everything will be fine._

The next serve was notably faster. Sanada still managed to claim the point, but his victory had been less of a conquest and more of a scramble.

The next point went to his opponent. As did the next.

_Damn it._

"Deuce!"

Sanada grimaced and tightened his fingers around the handle of his racket, molding the shape of his hands into his grip-tape.

His return narrowly skimmed the edge of his opponent's baseline. The fumbled return barreled into the net.

"Advantage, Sanada!"

"Game, Sanada!"

"There's something wrong with him," Atobe muttered, leaning forward. "He can hardly stand straight."

"Should he be playing, then?" Oshitari asked, peering over the rims of his glasses at the capped boy below. He was sweating profusely, and he looked fairly unsteady.

"He wants to," Atobe replied, and there was an intrigued smile on his face. "He has drive." He gazed intently at Sanada, impressed by the young man. He was handsome, too. His jaw was strong and his eyes dark and passionate. The cap was a shame, but from beneath the navy brim Atobe could see thick, black hair. He was slender but obviously muscular.

"Game, Sanada! Change court!"

"He can't be too ill," Oshitari said. "The score's at five games to love."

"Look, he can barely stand. It will be a shame if he can't make it through these last few points." Atobe smiled again, raising a hand to his face. "Something tells me he will, though." Sanada Genichiroh. He was interesting.

--

Sanada was breathing hard, sweat sliding into his open mouth. He could barely feel his legs beneath him, and the constant slam of his heartbeat rang painfully in his ears.

"One more point," he muttered, wiping his eyes and blinking furiously to clear his vision.

The serve came too quickly, and he had to struggle to return it, sending a high, easy lob back to his opponent. Sanada could see the smash coming. He stumbled backward, watching wearily as the ball connected with the strings of the reddish racket. The sound it made was beautiful.

Without thinking, Sanada started forward, sprinting toward the ball. At the last moment, however, he felt himself spinning, his arms extending and his knee hitting the court with a soft 'thud,' masked by the slight scraping of his shoes. Something was pressing against his racket, and by instinct, he pressed back, relieving the pressure and reveling in the sudden weightlessness. There was a comforting silence surrounding him, and with a sigh, he let his racket clatter to the ground. His body followed seconds later, the clay court cool against his cheek. His eyes drifted shut, and he barely heard the referee as he announced the end of the match.

"G-game, set, and match. Won by Sanada Genichiroh. Six games to love."

Atobe rose, pulling his jacket over his shoulders. Without a word, he strode down onto the tennis court, coming to a stop in front of Yukimura, who was already crossing the court to where Sanada lay.

"Excuse me," Yukimura said, smiling, but barely bothering to hide the bite in his voice. "My teammate is apparently unconscious and you're preventing me from tending to him. If you need help returning to your seat, I'm sure one of my teammates would be more than happy to escort you."

Atobe laughed.

"Trust me, Yukimura-kun, if that is your name, I'll be able to make it back without trouble. I am, however, down here for a reason." He chuckled again, and ran a hand through his silver hair.

Yukimura stared, rather incredulously, at the boy in front of him. He looked oddly familiar, and he was quite sure he had heard his voice before...

"Oh my God, 'Mura-buchou," Akaya whispered from somewhere behind him. "That's Atobe Keigo. _The_ Atobe Keigo. Holy..."

"Of course it is," Atobe snapped, glancing at Kirihara. "There is no one in the world who could ever hope to be more immediately recognizable. The combination of my enigmatic aura and unearthly beauty is unmatched by any other."

"Well, Atobe-san, it is a real honor to make your acquaintance." Yukimura replied, still smiling. "Many of my team members are fans of yours and were very pleased to see you here. However, I must tend to my fallen player, if you'll excuse me. I think it would really be best for you to return to your seat."

"I'm afraid I have to disagree," Atobe said. "I have a proposition. You still have a match to play, do you not?" He eyed Yukimura, and the captain reluctantly nodded. "From what I witnessed during this last match, I think it would be safe to assume that Sanada-kun would be highly disappointed should your team forfeit simply because he fainted and you all rushed him to the hospital. Therefore, as the generous being I am, I will escort Sanada-kun to the hospital and allow you to play your match."

"Absolutely not," Yukimura replied, pushing past Atobe. He knelt by Sanada, gently shaking his shoulder and pulling off his cap.

"Why?" Atobe pressed, following.

"It would be highly irresponsible for me to entrust one of my players to another teenager, especially one who is a complete stranger."

"Excuse me," another voice cut in, "but I'm Atobe's manager, and I would be happy ensure that your player remains safe and is cared for by the most capable physician available. Your hesitations are only natural, but as the captain of one of the strongest teams in Japan, I can imagine that this tournament means a huge amount to you and your team. I'm sure having to forfeit your inevitable win would greatly upset Sanada-kun when he comes 'round. I would be happy to provide you with all of the necessary cell phone numbers, and we would be sure to update you regularly regarding the health of Sanada-kun. We will also, of course, ensure that you have proper transportation to the hospital after the tournament has come to a close..."

"That's enough," Yukimura said, rising. "I would like a name, phone number, and the address of hospital to which you plan on taking Sanada."

"Of course," Oshitari replied, bowing. "Oshitari Yuushi. Here is my cell phone number, as well as my pager. As for medical care, assuming you have no objections, we will place Sanada-kun in the hands of Ootori Choutaroh, Atobe's personal doctor. I can assure you that he's both highly qualified and extraordinarily skilled. Sanada-kun will receive more personal attention than he would at a public hospital, of course."

Yukimura sighed and pushed a strand of hair away from his eyes.

"Very well." He paused, as if considering something, before lowering his head in an understated bow. "Thank you for your kindness."

"My pleasure," Atobe cut in, snapping his fingers. "Kabaji, carry Sanada-kun out to the car. Gently, gently..."

"Right," Kabaji agreed. He lifted Sanada's limp, sweat-soaked body from the court and slung it over his shoulder before starting toward the exit. Atobe shook his head slightly, chuckling under his breath.

"That Kabaji... He is really impossible,"he muttered, before following. His stride was fluid and effortless, and he seemed utterly unaware of the hundreds of eyes that traced his every movement. With a slight roll of his eyes, Yukimura started back toward the bench, his team scrambling after him, talking in hushed, excited voices.

"Wow," Kirihara was mumbling, "he was so cool!"

"Of course!" Marui exclaimed, popping a particularly large bubble. "It was Atobe Keigo! Man, Sanada is so lucky!"

Frowning slightly, Yukimura reached for his racket. It would be best to finish this match quickly. Perhaps it had been a mistake to place Sanada in such an arrogant stranger's care.

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Reviews are still lovely. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Hey. Thanks for all of the reviews for the last chapter, they were much appreciated. I'm so glad to hear that people are enjoying this story. The Tango Pair needs more love, so I'm glad to be spreading it. :)

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"Ungh.." Sanada winced and rolled over, clutching his throbbing head. "Where am I?"

The sound of hushed voices came from somewhere in the room, and Sanada could barely make out two, fuzzy, dark patches that might have been people in the far corner. Suddenly, he felt someone press a cool, wet cloth to his head, and a timid voice drowned out the others.

"Ah, Sanada-san, you're awake. It seems you fainted after your tennis match. From what I can tell it's nothing serious, simply a mild cold intensified by fatigue and stress. I expect a full recovery within the next few days, as long as you rest... Oh, I'm sorry, you asked a question and I haven't answered! You're in an apartment in central Tokyo. Atobe-san brought you here."

"God knows why," someone snorted. "Ow! Atobe, grow up!"

"A..to..be?" Sanada repeated. The cloth was pulled away and he sat up, rubbing his eyes. The room came into focus, and he gazed around in horror at his companions. Perched beside him was a young man with tousled, silver hair, holding the damp cloth and fidgeting nervously with the stethoscope around his neck. Behind him, a brown-haired boy was leaning against the wall, twirling a blue cap on one finger, looking highly disinterested. To his left, an elegantly dressed boy wearing a haughty grin lifted a hand in a careless wave.

"Atobe..." Sanada muttered. The name sounded so familiar. "What the hell is going on?" The young singer laughed and sauntered toward the bed.

"Sanada Genichiroh," he said, "I truly enjoyed your tennis."

"Wow." The boy with the hat whistled softly and jammed the cap onto his head. "I think that _might_ have been a compliment. Quick, someone document it. What's the date?"

"Shut up, Shishido," Atobe spat, glaring at the boy. "No one asked you to hang around here anyway. We all know there's only one reason you're not off playing video games and that's because you - "

"Whatever," Shishido interrupted, blushing. Suddenly, Sanada gasped and scrambled from the bed, knocking a glass of water from the bedside table.

"Atobe Keigo," he said, shaking his head in disbelief, "you... The singer!"

"Well, obviously," Atobe replied, rolling his eyes. "Do you know any other 'Atobe Keigos'? I thought not. Now, is there anything else stunningly obvious that you'd care to point out for us all, or may I continue?"

Sanada remained silent.

"Excellent. As I was saying, I truly enjoyed your tennis, and for the time that I'm here, I want you to be my coach."

There was a heavy silence, during which everyone in the room seemed to be weighing the situation.

"With all due respect, Atobe-san," Sanada started slowly, "I don't know if I'm capable."

"I have already decided that for myself," Atobe replied. "I wouldn't have bothered bringing you here if I didn't think you had potential."

Sanada frowned. He hadn't expected Atobe to be so rude.

"I'm not quite sure if our personalities are compatible either, Atobe-san. You seem a bit... Proud."

"Don't be ridiculous, Sanada. One can tell just by looking that you are as arrogant as I if not more. The only difference is the manner in which we present our self-confidence. And furthermore, I will not accept 'no' as an answer. You will coach me, and that is final."

"Your haughtiness is amusing, Atobe-san, and while I'm sure there are thousands of people who would kill to be in my position, I am afraid that I have no interest in attempting to coach you."

"It seems you did not hear me correctly the first time. You do not have a choice in this matter, Sanada Genichiroh. You will coach me for the next two weeks, and that is final. A salary can be arranged, although one would think the opportunity to spend time with someone as incredible as myself would be payment enough. Give me your cell phone, I'll program in all the necessary numbers."

"I refuse," Sanada insisted, meeting Atobe's glare with one of equal distaste. "This area is home to a surprising number of talented players, some of who have been lucky enough to beat me. I suggest you look into them, I'm sure you'll find someone more willing."

"I don't want _them,_" Atobe declared, waving his hand impatiently, "I want _you._"

Shishido snorted, and Atobe grabbed a pillow from the bed and chucked it at him.

"Hey!" Shishido spluttered, grabbing the pillow and throwing it back at Atobe. "What the hell?"

"Get lost," Atobe hissed. "Honestly, Shishido, you are impossible!" Shishido flicked his middle finger up, swearing violently under his breath as he stalked out of the room. The door slammed, and Atobe turned back to Sanada, eyes flaming. "And you." He jabbed a finger into Sanada's chest, pushing him back against the wall. "You _will_ coach me, no matter how incompatible we may be. A driver will pick you up after school, starting tomorrow. Should you fail to arrive, I will personally ensure that any future you may have is completely and utterly destroyed." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "To think, I was forced into a such a fury by someone so far below me..."

"I have tennis practice," Sanada interrupted. "I have tennis practice after school and as the vice-captain it is my duty to be there."

"Fine, the driver will pick you up when practice is over," Atobe replied, shrugging. Sanada remained silent, and Atobe broke into a haughty grin. "Excellent, I've finally managed to shut you up. Now, it is imperative that this arrangement remain secret. I don't want half of Japan coming to watch me play tennis, no matter how beautiful I may be. Do not tell anyone what you're doing, understood? No one must know, your team and family included." He looked at Sanada expectantly.

"Alright," he agreed, "it will remain confidential."

"Promise?" Atobe asked suspiciously.

"Yes," Sanada replied, eyeing the other warily.

"Swear?" Atobe continued, "on your life?"

"Atobe, stop being so childish. Sanada-kun, your team is here. Can I let them in?" Oshitari called from the doorway.

"Please," Sanada said, sitting back down on the bed as the group obediently filed in.

"Sanada-fukubuchou!" Kirihara shouted, pushing past Yukimura and Yanagi to sit beside the vice captain. "You must be the luckiest person alive." He glanced over at Atobe, who had quickly retreated to the doorway and was now standing beside Oshitari. "Did he talk to you?" he asked breathlessly.

"A bit," Sanada replied.

"Genichiroh, I'm glad to see you've recovered."

"Seiichi," Sanada greeted him, the relief evident in his voice. "How did your match go?"

"Quite well," Yukimura replied, smiling.

Sanada nodded in response and glanced around the room at the rest of his teammates. Yanagi seemed to be taking in his environment, probably calculating the the net worth of the apartment. Kirihara and Marui were staring unabashedly at Atobe, while Jackal tried to point out how rude they were being. Niou was wandering around the room, sticking his nose in paintings and running his fingers over obviously expensive vases.

"Do you mind?" Niou glanced lazily over his shoulder and grinned at Atobe, who was glaring at him, arms folded across his chest.

"Not really," Niou replied, winking.

"It was a rhetorical question," Atobe spat. "Honestly, is Tokyo breeding assholes? That, or your vice captain has taught you well." Niou laughed.

"You're calling Sanada an asshole? You must not have spoken a word to him. He's strict as hell and doesn't take any shit, and he may have a pole the size of France stuck up his ass, but he's about as far from being an asshole as you can get."

"Aww," Atobe chuckled. "How cute. You're so loyal and respectful. I'm moved."

"I'm honored that I managed to sway the untouchable Atobe," Niou drawled, thumping a hand against his heart.

"You should be," Atobe informed him, a slow smile spreading across his face. "What's your name?"

"Niou Masaharu," he replied, raising two fingers in a lazy salute.

"Niou Masaharu," Atobe murmured. He looked up, smirking. "So, am I more intimidating close up?" Niou laughed.

"Intimidating? Hell no. Hang out with Yukimura and Sanada for a while and you'll find out why. They're _scary_. Which is why they make a perfect couple," he muttered. "And besides," he continued, stepping closer, "why would be I be intimidated by something so cute?"

"Niou-kun." Yagyuu pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and rose, shoulders set back and mouth set in a firm line. "You're being a bit forward. Try to be more polite." Niou grinned and nodded.

"Okay, Hiroshi."

"Oh dear," Atobe laughed, "is he jealous? Well, you can tell him not to worry. I enjoy a challenge, Niou Masaharu, and you are far too easy, in every respect."

"Ah well, I tried," Niou shrugged, and strolled over to join Yagyuu. "So, Sanada-fukubuchou, how are you _feeling?_"

"Fine," Sanada said, grimacing. "In fact, I'm sure that since our presence is probably hindering Atobe-san's plans, we ought to leave. Quickly."

--

"I still can't believe fukubuchou made us leave like that," Kirihara grumbled, slinging his racket over his shoulder.

"I know," Marui agreed, licking the last bits of frosting from his fingers and shoving his cake wrapper in a garbage can as the pair made their way to the courts. "I had just thought of the perfect conversation starter, too."

"Niou-senpai's the luckiest," the black-haired boy whined. "Atobe actually _asked what his name was._"

"Ahh, come on now, don't be jealous!" Akaya jumped as he felt an arm wrap around his shoulder.

"Niou-senpai!" he huffed, "don't do that!" Niou winked and ruffled his hair.

"But you know," he mused, "Atobe _did_ seem to take a liking to me. I suppose I'm just irresistible to someone like that. He who has everything must long to dominate a cunning spirit such as myself." He chuckled.

"Don't give yourself so much credit," Marui muttered. "He only bothered with you because you were touching his stuff and being rude."

"Whatever," Niou replied, shrugging and stepping ahead to meet Yagyuu, who was waiting near the bleachers.

The rest of the team assembled quickly, and practice went on as usual. Any mention of Atobe put Sanada in an incredibly dark mood, and Marui, Kirihara, and Niou spent a good half of the practice running laps. They were the last to file into the locker room, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat from their brows.

"Sanada-fukubuchou was so harsh today," Kirihara whined, collapsing onto a bench. "I hardly touched my racket."

"Speaking of which, where is he?" Jackal asked, looking around.

"He vanished a few minutes ago, just before those three returned," Yanagi replied, gesturing toward Kirihara, Marui, and Niou. "He took his things and left. He said something about an engagement right after practice."

"Fukubuchou is getting married?!" Kirihara exclaimed, sitting up. Yukimura laughed.

"Yanagi means an appointment, Akaya," he said, smiling.

"Do you know anything about it, Seiichi?" Yanagi asked.

"No," Yukimura replied thoughtfully, "he hasn't mentioned anything."

"Strange," Yanagi murmured. "I wonder what he's up to."

--

Sanada stepped out of the school gates, slinging his bag over his shoulder and glancing around. There wasn't a limo in sight, but then again, Atobe had never said what sort of car to expect.

"Excuse me, are you Sanada Genichiroh?" Sanada turned to find a middle-aged man in a suit before him, bowing respectfully. He bowed in return and nodded.

"Yes, I am."

"Ah, good. I'm Atobe-sama's driver. Please allow me to escort you this afternoon." He started off and Sanada followed silently. The man stopped beside a silver Audi TT and opened the door. He bowed once more as Sanada awkwardly slipped inside, shoving his bag onto the seat next to him and sliding the seatbelt over his chest. The driver seated himself and revved up the engine. "Don't expect a long ride, Sanada-san," he said, glancing in the rear-view mirror. "We'll be there in a matter of minutes, I assure you."

"Thank you," Sanada muttered, not quite sure what else to say. The driver didn't speak again, however, and Sanada settled back into the leather seat and gazed out the window at the passing buildings. He wasn't particularly familiar with this area of the city, as his own home lay in the opposite direction and he had never felt the need to buy anything from the designer shops that lined the streets here. Mannequins flaunting long strings of pearls and silk dresses occupied the windows, occasionally hidden by the long, reaching branches of foreign trees and bushes. How there could be a tennis court around here was beyond him, but then again, the extraordinarily wealthy were often unpredictable. He wouldn't be half surprised if Atobe had the court built simply for his use this week.

"We've arrived," the driver announced, pulling into a deserted parking lot. He parked quickly and hurried to open Sanada's door, retrieving his bag for him while the youth stood rather awkwardly by the side of a tall building. "Please, follow me," he called, starting toward the entrance. Sanada pushed through the revolving door after him, staring in wonder at the marble floors and low-hanging chandeliers, their crystal accents sparkling softly in the glow of the large, elegant room. The driver had stopped outside a row of elevators and was waiting patiently, one hand keeping the doors open, while Sanada slowly made his way toward him, trying his best to conceal his shock. "The tennis court is on the thirty ninth floor," he explained, stepping into the luxuriously furnished elevator behind Sanada and pressing the appropriate button. "Atobe-sama chose it because it is relatively secret and seldom used. He has issued strict orders to ensure that no one interrupts his training sessions."

Sanada simply nodded in response, watching the numbers blink across the screen as the elevator rose higher and higher. He regretted choosing not to shower. His initial intent had been to subtly express his unwillingness to coach Atobe, but upon seeing the splendorous setting of the courts, he was feeling slightly out of place.

A sharp ring jolted him out of his thoughts, and the doors slid open to reveal a long corridor, of which one of the walls was completely transparent. Behind the glass lay the court, where Sanada could see Atobe waiting, leaning against the net pole and twirling his racket on his finger.

"Through here," the driver instructed, opening a door that seemed to appear from nowhere. "Atobe-sama is waiting. I will leave you here. Atobe-sama has informed me that you will take the train home. I will fetch you after school tomorrow at the same time." He bowed low before taking his leave, retreating quickly into the elevator. Sanada watched rather helplessly as he disappeared behind the golden doors, leaving nothing but fifty or so feet between himself and Atobe.

"Sanada Genichiroh," Atobe said, strolling over. "I hope you were comfortable on your way here."

"Yes, thank you," Sanada said stiffly, inclining his head ever so slightly. Atobe laughed and turned away.

"Well then, I suggest we begin. I did not hire you to do nothing but look horribly out of place," he called. Sanada scowled.

"Very well, then. We'll start with a simple assessment. I should know what I'm dealing with."

"Of course," Atobe replied, taking his position on the baseline. Sanada hurried over to stand on the opposite side, snatching a couple balls from the cart on his way.

"Are you ready?" he asked, gripping his racket.

"Always."

He hit a gentle, underhanded serve across the net, half expecting the ball to remain on Atobe's side, half expecting a mildly decent return typical of an amateur player. He did not expect a backhand nearly has powerful as his own, and struggled to return it, sending a high lob back. With a hoarse chuckle, Atobe leaned back and smashed it without mercy, sending the ball whizzing past Sanada's ear and into the wall behind him.

"I am not an amateur, Sanada Genichiroh," he said, and for a brief moment, Sanada wondered if the pop star could read minds. "I've been playing for as long as I can remember."

"I see," Sanada muttered, squeezing the ball in his pocket.

"I want to play a match," Atobe announced, approaching the net. Sanada frowned, pulling his cap lower over his eyes.

"Fine," he agreed, to his own surprise. "We'll play. Rough, or smooth?" Atobe grinned devilishly.

"Rough," he declared, watching haughtily as Sanada's racket clattered to the ground. The grip read rough, and Sanada rose, gazing at him expectantly.

"You serve first," Atobe decided, falling back to the right side of his court. "I don't want you to hold back, Sanada. I don't care if you're still sick. Come at me with everything you have!"

"I reserve my true power for the select few who have proved to be challenges for me," Sanada replied calmly, bouncing the ball alongside the baseline.

"Then be awed by my prowess, Sanada Genichiroh!" Atobe declared.

Sanada's serve rocketed across the court, but to his surprise, Atobe made contact easily, sending a down-the-line shot back with such force that Sanada lost a step in his effort to return it. He caught himself, however, and fell back into a split-step as Atobe dashed for the net, catching his return with a backhand slice. Sanada carefully surveyed his opponent's court as he prepared for his shot, bringing his racket back and quickly settling on an open corner. His swing was characteristically flawless, but Atobe was a step ahead. In a flash, he moved, sending a sharply-angled volley across the service box, just out of Sanada's reach.

"Love, fifteen."

"I'm aware of the score," Sanada hissed, once again assuming his position on the baseline.

The first game went to Sanada, the second to Atobe. The third entailed a rather grueling deuce, during which the advantage switched from sweat-soaked player to sweat-soaked player, until Sanada finally emerged victorious.

"One game to two, love all," Atobe called, slightly breathless. He served and crouched low, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he anticipated Sanada's next shot. Sweat was dripping into his eyes, and his legs burned with the strain of the game. He could not, however, wipe the slight smile from his face, brought forth by the utter elation of the game and the skill of his opponent. Across the net, Sanada was equally exhausted, his sweat-soaked hair sticking uncomfortably to his forehead. He returned Atobe's serve with ease, having quickly discerned that the danger lay not in the beginning but the aftermath. The games were flying by, point after point going to him, then to Atobe, then to him again. His two victories had been due to luck more than anything else, to his shock. A particularly powerful shot here, a misstep on Atobe's side there.

"Forty, thirty."

This serve was slightly faster, settling more heavily on Sanada's racket than the previous ones had. His return, as a result, was slightly weaker, and Atobe's next shot was deadly, rocketing low and long along the court. Sanada fumbled to return it, tripping slightly and sending a high lob back. He struggled to regain his balance, gripping his racket haphazardly as he uncertainly positioned himself on the service line, watching as Atobe prepared for an overhead smash. In the next moment, he felt something strike his grip, sending his racket flying out of his hands. He glanced up again, and to his shock, Atobe was looming over him, poised for a second smash. The ball was peaking, hovering slightly before beginning its descent. There was a sudden silence, and then, the ball was gone, and Atobe was standing beside the net, smiling triumphantly.

"Hametsu e no Rondo," he panted, slowly lifting his racket and pointing it straight at Sanada's face. And then, in perfect English, he said, slowly and deliberately, "Rondo Towards Destruction." Then he laughed, and turned away. Sanada felt his frown deepen, and with a growing anger, he gripped the ball.

"Two games all, love all," he muttered.

From across the net, Atobe watched carefully as Sanada tossed the ball above his head, coiling back in preparation for the serve. The next instant, the ball was rolling on the ground beside him, and Sanada was standing on the baseline, a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth.

"That was..."

"Only the beginning," Sanada replied, tugging thoughtfully on his cap. He hadn't played such an enjoyable game in a long time.

Atobe returned the next serve, but watched carefully, and quickly concluded that it had not been the same shot. As Sanada prepared for his next play, however, something in Atobe warned him that he was about to face another remarkable technique. And he was right. The returning ball appeared behind him with the same suddenness, and Sanada remained at the baseline, his racket at his side.

"Fuurinkazan," Sanada explained. "Wind, forest, fire, mountain. From each element I draw a specific technique." He pulled another ball out of his pocket. "And I've never lost a game in which it has been implemented."

Atobe chuckled.

"There's a first time for everything," he replied dryly, and readied himself for the incoming serve.

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Hope you enjoyed. Reviews are awesome! :)


	4. Chapter 4

Well, not much to say... Here's Chapter 4?!

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"That's game to me," Sanada announced, approaching the net. "Three games to two. Are you sure you want to continue?"

"Of course," Atobe snapped. "Do you think I'm at my limit? If you are going to draw on your most powerful techniques, then I'll do the same." With that, he turned away, stalking back toward the baseline with his shoulders set in a straight line, his stride as prideful as ever. He took his position, and Sanada watched from across the court with interest as his opponent took a long, deep breath, turning the ball in his hands. Finally, he bent low, and their eyes met for a moment. Atobe's eyes burned with a rather threatening fire, but Sanada's glare met the other's stare with equal passion. Then, Atobe was tossing the ball in the air, and leaning back, until his body was almost parallel with the court. Then, in a flash, he swung his arm forward, making contact with the ball in a completely unreadable manner. Sanada watched with narrowed eyes as the ball screamed toward him. It was easy to tell that its spin was far from normal. The ball struck the ground, and Sanada brought his racket back in preparation, but to his shock, the opportunity to strike back never came. The ball never left the smooth surface of the court, rolling past him with a hissing sound and coming to a stop beside the wall.

"What..." Sanada gazed across the net at Atobe in shock.

"The Tannhauser Serve," the silver-haired boy said, smirking. "And still only the beginning."

Sanada watched with growing interest as Atobe lifted a hand to his face, pressing his fingers to the skin between his eyes. Their eyes met again, but this time, Atobe's expression was completely different. He looked somewhat detached, as if he was off in some distant world unreachable by anyone else. Sanada felt himself shrink back, suddenly frightened by the way Atobe seemed to be reading into him, fingering through his darkest secrets and turning them over one by one, committing them to memory for later.

"What are you doing?" Sanada finally shouted, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from Atobe's intruding eyes. "Serve!" Atobe simply laughed and lowered his hand.

"You're difficult to read, Sanada Genichiroh," he replied, sauntering along the baseline and pulling another ball out of his pocket. "But rest assured - " he swung again, sending the ball rocketing across the court "-you're far from perfect!" Sanada watched, mesmerized, as the serve sped toward him. Atobe's tennis was truly amazing. He had never met anyone who played with such aggressive grace. Even Yukimura...

"That's enough!" Sanada suddenly called out, stepping toward the net and catching the ball on his racket. Atobe scowled.

"Don't chicken out now!" he protested, effortlessly vaulting over the net and coming to stand in front of Sanada.

"No. We'll call it even, 3 games all, and finish the match another day. If you're so proficient in tennis, why do you need me?" Sanada asked, tugging on the brim of his cap.

"Because," Atobe replied, smiling slyly, "I have one last technique that needs perfecting."

"What is it?" Sanada inquired, unable to contain his curiosity. The techniques Atobe had uncovered in the match had been admittedly impressive.

"Well, I'm calling it Koori no Sekai," Atobe said, twirling his racket around his finger. "It's technically an evolution of my Insight. I spent a lot of time watching people when I was a child. My father was, and still is, I suppose, very wealthy, and he had company far more often than not. I was not allowed to come into contact with any of his guests, but I never tired of watching them from doorways and under tables. He brought in clients from all over the world. Over the years, I developed a strange talent for reading into people, probably due to the hours I spent watching these exotic guests. So, I decided to use the skill to my advantage. It has become a rather useful marketing device. My fans love the idea of a soul-gazing pop idol. As you saw, it's equally useful in tennis. In any case, Koori no Sekai would theoretically allow me to visualize my opponent's blind spots. There is no doubt that I have the skill level required to allow me to execute such precise shots, but actually reaching the mental state in which Koori no Sekai would be plausible has so far been impossible." He sighed. "This is where you come into play. I happen to know that you've achieved Muga no Kyouchi. I want you to help me reach that state of concentration."

"That's not possible," Sanada countered, crossing his arms. "I achieved Muga no Kyouchi during that match last year because the fate of my team rested on my shoulders. I have not been able to summon it again since then. It was the effect of an extreme adrenaline rush. Not skill."

"My, so blunt and humble," Atobe drawled, leaning closer. "You and I both know that Muga no Kyouchi cannot be achieved unless the player posses a certain amount of skill. Teach me everything you know, Sanada Genichiroh." Sanada gazed at him blankly. "I'll give you a prompt," Atobe offered, tapping his chin. "What allows you to keep such a stern façade?"

"It is not a façade," Sanada replied, frowning. "I've learned self discipline through practicing kendo."

"Kendo," Atobe repeated slowly, thinking carefully. "Teach me," he ordered, looking up.

"Now you are being completely impractical," Sanada insisted. "Kendo takes a lifetime to master. Asking that I teach you kendo is like demanding that you be taught to speak Latin fluently in a week."

"I learned to speak reasonable French in four days and English in seven," Atobe replied flippantly, starting toward his bag. "I'll call Oshitari and tell him to prepare a room in the apartment for my training. We'll begin tomorrow. I'll let the driver know that the plans have changed temporarily." Sanada sighed wearily and pulled off his hat, running his hand through his sweat-dampened hair.

"You are far too used to getting your way," he said, slipping his racket into his bag.

"I'm simply incredibly persuasive," Atobe replied, glancing over, only to start slightly at the sight of Sanada without his cap. His dark hair hung loosely around his face, and his tanned skin glistened with sweat. His white teeth showed slightly through his parted lips. Atobe swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away before Sanada noticed him staring.

"I don't have practice tomorrow," Sanada informed him, shifting his bag onto his shoulder. "If you're serious about learning the basics of kendo, then we will need far more than a couple of hours."

"I'll have my driver collect you directly after school, then," Atobe said, watching out of the corner of his eye as Sanada pulled his cap back over his hair.

"Fine," Sanada replied. "I'll see you later, then."

With that, he strode off of the court, head held high. Atobe's eyes followed him until he disappeared into the stairwell. With a slight shake of his head, the pop star turned back to his bag, zipping it up with a sigh.

"Sanada Genichiroh," he murmured, rolling the name across his tongue as he stepped into the elevator. Chuckling softly, he pressed the ground-level button and leaned against the gold-leafed railing as he waited for the elevator to begin its descent.

--

"Fukubuchou, where did you _go_ yesterday?" Akaya inquired between bites. It was lunchtime, and the team had gathered to talk since there would be no practice that afternoon. Just as well, too, because the sky had been shadowed by foreboding clouds for quite some time now.

"Out," Sanada replied, stabbing his chopsticks rather maliciously at the length of broiled salmon occupying his bento. His mother always took great care in creating beautiful lunches for her sons and husband, and he was grateful, but today, he simply wasn't in the mood for much of anything, really.

All of last night, he hadn't been able to get Atobe out of his mind. The arrogant, silver-haired boy had managed to snake his way into every single one of Sanada's thoughts. He wouldn't have given the situation much thought if it had not been that these thoughts of Atobe had completely replaced those of Yukimura, which Sanada found quite distressing. He was, without a doubt, unquestionably loyal to Seiichi, both as a vice captain and a boyfriend.

"Genichiroh?" Yukimura's voice shook him out of his thoughts, and Sanada looked up. Yukimura smiled kindly at him. "Did you not sleep well last night?"

"Not particularly," Sanada admitted, biting down on a piece of salmon. Yukimura nodded silently and laced his fingers together.

"So, fukubuchou, we're all curious," Niou pressed. "Where'd ya go?"

"Out," Sanada repeated.

"I know!" Kirihara cried, spraying bits of sandwich across the table in his excitement. He'd taken a sudden liking to all foods American, and his lunches regularly consisted of strangely-filled sandwiches and bags of chips. "You're doing secret extra training to prepare for nationals!"

"Oh my, how did you know?" Sanada said dryly, eyeing the crumbs with distaste.

"On a serious note, Genichiroh," Yanagi interrupted, "is everything alright?"

"Yes," Sanada assured him, slipping the lid over his unfinished bento. "It's simply a series of appointments that my parents would rather me keep secret."

"That's very unusual," Yanagi muttered.

"That may be the case, but it doesn't change the situation." He rose from his seat and slung his book bag over his shoulder. "If you'll excuse me, I need to speak with a teacher." Yukimura nodded, and watched with an unreadable expression on his face as Sanada hurried out of the room.

"What are you thinking, Seiichi?" Yanagi asked.

"That Genichiroh has never really lied to me before," Yukimura replied. "I'm worried."

--

Sanada groaned and slammed his head against the cool, metal locker. Lying to Yukimura so directly was painful. Not only had Atobe Keigo begun to saturate his thoughts, he was slowly destroying his life, too.

"Damn you," Sanada muttered bitterly, shoving an elbow into his own gut.

"Damn who, Genichiroh?"

Sanada looked up quickly to see Yukimura standing in front of him, glowing slightly in the pale, afternoon light.

"No one," Sanada replied, pushing himself off of the lockers. Yukimura took a step forward.

"Why are you lying to me, Genichiroh?" he asked, unable to keep the slight sting out of his voice. Sanada looked hurt and surprised, and drew a shaky breath.

"I'm not... Lying to you," he insisted, eyes landing anywhere but Yukimura's face.

"You're digging yourself into a hole, Genichiroh."

"I'm not lying."

Yukimura simply stared at him, before moving forward and placing a hand on Sanada's chest.

"Genichiroh," he murmured, "I just want to make sure everything is alright."

"And it is!" Sanada snapped. He glanced down at Yukimura, who was gazing up at him with unreadable eyes. For a moment, he saw Atobe, standing with his hand over his face, his dark eyes drilling into him and a smirk adorning his lips. With a jolt, Sanada pushed Yukimura away, shaking his head vigorously to clear the image.

"Genichiroh!" Yukimura cried, backing away. "What is wrong with you?"

Sanada stared at him for a moment, before the ringing of the school bell shattered the silence. Without a word, Sanada walked away, disappearing into his classroom without so much as a second glance in Yukimura's direction.

--

"You say he's not out there waiting?" Atobe sighed and collapsed into a chair, pressing the phone more tightly to his ear. "Yes, go check the tennis courts. No, I have his cell phone number. I'll call it now and then get back to you." Atobe hung up and quickly began scrolling through the hundreds of numbers programmed into his phone. Finally finding Sanada's, he hit the call button and leaned forward, resting his chin on the wooden table.

"Yes?"

"Ah, Sanada. My driver tells me you're not outside waiting." There was a long silence, before Sanada finally spoke again.

"I..."

"Ah, you'll be out there shortly?" Atobe interrupted, running a hand through his hair. "Excellent. For a moment I'd thought you had gone back on your word." He heard Sanada sigh over the line and smirked.

"I'll be out in a matter of minutes," Sanada said, obviously through gritted teeth. Atobe chuckled.

"Good. Try not to keep everyone waiting next time." With that, he hung up, and quickly called the driver to let him know that Sanada would meet him shortly.

"You're smiling an awful lot lately, Atobe," Oshitari drawled, wandering into the kitchen and pulling a can of mineral water out of the fridge.

"Shut up and tell everyone to make themselves presentable," Atobe replied, rising. "Sanada will be here momentarily." Oshitari laughed.

"Already bringing him home to meet the family, hmm?" he teased, taking a long sip of water. Atobe was strangely silent, a half-hearted scowl being his only response. "Oh my," Oshitari said, his tone slightly more serious, "are you really falling for him?"

"No," Atobe replied, glancing at his watch. "Don't be ridiculous. This isn't one of your cheesy romance novels." Oshitari didn't bother replying. He simply wandered out of the kitchen, probably in search of Mukahi. There was a sudden knock on the door, and Atobe slumped back into his chair as he heard Kabaji wrench open the front door. There was a muted conversation before Sanada stepped into the kitchen, dressed in his school uniform. Something about him seemed slightly off to Atobe, but since he couldn't place it, he discarded the thought.

"Atobe," Sanada greeted him, nodding curtly. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Atobe replied, "but first, I think it is only proper that you meet the rest of my little familial ensemble. But since they are a bunch of lazy swine, we're going to have to find them, so follow me." He set off, walking quickly. Sanada hurried after him, not wanting to be left behind in the mammoth apartment.

"You've met Oshitari," he said, gesturing at a long-haired man poised elegantly on the couch, a can of mineral water wrapped in his slender fingers. "And this is Mukahi Gakuto, one of my two guitarists."

"What's up?" Mukahi said, flashing a peace sign.

"That," Atobe continued, pointing to the blue-capped young man in the corner Sanada vaguely remembered from the last time he had been here, "is Shishido Ryou." Shishido turned around, glancing at Sanada with interest. "Shishido plays the guitar as well," Atobe informed him, "and is excellent at being a lazy bastard." Shishido nonchalantly proceeded to flip Atobe off, before turning back to his video game. Atobe shrugged the insult off and proceeded into the next room.

"You met Kabaji at the door, of course," he said, gazing around the room. "And that is Hiyoshi Wakashi. Responsible for bass. A bit serious at times, but quite dependable. Sleeping on the couch is Akutagawa Jiroh, my drummer. He suffers from slight narcolepsy, but if he gets excited, he stays awake with no problem." Sanada nodded warily, out of politeness. "You've also met our personal doctor, Ootori Choutaroh. He was the one taking care of you when you were last here. He's often out during the day."

"Why do you need a personal doctor?" Sanada asked.

"No particular reason," Atobe replied, waving his hand dissuasively. "Now, let's begin the kendo practice."

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Reviews make me happy. :)

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	5. Chapter 5

Hey! Thanks for the reviews, I like reading your guys' reaction to different parts of the chapter. Everyone was especially worried about Atobe's personal doctor! Hahah, you'll find out his purpose in the story soon enough. In any case, one thing before I stop rambling.. The Tango Pair Fountain of FanFiction Love (ahah, cheesey much?) has completely dried up! So I'm going to prompt all of _you_ to write something Tango. Even if it's just a tiny little oneshot, I'll love you forever for it. :)

One last note: I know close to nothing about kendo. Hopefully I didn't completely mess all of the terminology up, please correct me if I did.

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Atobe lead him into a large, empty room. The floor was a beautiful, polished wood, and bogu and shinai had been arranged in a corner for their use. Atobe strode over to a shelf and pulled off two sets of dark blue keikogi and hakama. He tossed a pair at Sanada, who accepted them with a slight bow. He quickly began unbuttoning his school jacket, shrugging it off of his shoulders before setting about loosening his tie. Atobe watched, transfixed, as Sanada slipped out of his shirt, exposing his muscular chest. As he began unbuttoning his pants, he glanced up at Atobe, who was still watching him, eyes wide.

"Shouldn't you be changing?" he asked, feeling his face grow warm. Atobe had been watching him with such intent... It was frightening. At his words, however, Atobe flushed a dark red and hurriedly pulled his shirt over his head. Sanada felt his breath catch at the sight of Atobe's pale, slender chest. His ribs were clearly visible through his skin, and as he lifted his arms over his head, his hipbones became painfully prominent. The sight was disturbingly beautiful, and Sanada found himself fighting the urge to cross the room and take Atobe into his arms. With a slight shake of his head, he turned away and began arranging his clothes near the wall, having hastily donned his keikogi and hakama in an effort to avoid watching Atobe de-robe. When he turned back to face Atobe, he found him reaching eagerly for a shinai, a determined grimace on his face.

"No," Sanada commanded. "You are not ready for that. Sit," he ordered, pointing at the ground. Atobe rolled his eyes but knelt dutifully, folding his legs beneath him, back straight. Sanada knelt in front of him.

"There is a chance that you will never touch the shinai," he continued. "First and foremost, kendo is about mental strength. Learning to overcome the Four Poisons of Kendo will significantly alter the manner in which you interpret your surroundings and the hazards that inhabit them. Normally, one would learn to overcome these four poisons through a series of confrontations involving a serious opponent. In your case, however, we will attempt to manage them mentally, in order to provide at least a base for further instruction should you desire it." He paused for a moment and eyed Atobe carefully, watching to ensure that he was listening closely. "I'm sure you've heard the teaching 'overcome others by overcoming yourself', he began, but Atobe shook his head.

"Never," he replied steadily, gazing at Sanada with a steeled expression. "My family values money and independent success far more than traditional teachings. Neither my father nor my mother had any interest in Japanese culture. I learned the language secretly from my caretaker. I was raised speaking English."

Sanada was silent for a moment, before he nodded curtly. "It hardly matters. We will confront each poison individually, beginning with doubt. The moment you begin to doubt yourself, you will fail."

"I rarely doubt myself, Sanada Genichiroh," Atobe replied, laughing. "I'm surprised you haven't already realized that."

Sanada remained silent for a moment, before suddenly reaching forward and grabbing Atobe by the wrist, jerking him forward.

"What are you doing?" he cried, eyes wide.

"Surprise is the second poison," Sanada replied, releasing him, expressionless as ever. "You cannot let anything catch you off guard."

"This is ridiculous," Atobe scoffed, leaning back. "There is no way-"

"I am wasting my time with the likes of you," Sanada interrupted, rising suddenly. "If you do not even have the discipline and humility to consider what you are being taught, then there is no possibility that you could ever even begin to master the art of kendo."

"Don't condemn my criticism," Atobe snarled, moving gracefully to his feet. "I am perfectly justified in my skepticism. You have offered no proof that you have the slightest idea what you're talking about. Prove to me that this will have results."

"Very well," Sanada replied evenly, his eyes burning with anger. Somewhere within him, something stirred, warning him in a pitiful voice that he ought to simply walk away now and never return, but he grudgingly ignored it. Carefully selecting a katana, he moved toward the straw target. Closing his eyes, he slowly raised the sword before him. The long, slender blade glinted dangerously in the fading sunlight, and Atobe watched, not daring a breath, as Sanada's eyes suddenly snapped open. With a violent cry, he moved forward. His foot met the floor in a solid stomp and the blade flashed once before coming to rest at his side. The target remained in one piece. Releasing a long, deep breath, Sanada stepped back again, eyeing the target with interest. Atobe opened his mouth to speak when suddenly the top half of the straw bundle slid to the floor with a muted crash. There was not a piece of straw left uncut. There was a long silence, before Atobe released a long, slow chuckle.

"Well then, Sanada Genichiroh. It seems you're qualified to teach me."

--

Atobe groaned and flopped onto his back. He and Sanada had been trying to work their way through the Four Poisons for nearly three hours now, but to no avail. Atobe had no idea what he was working toward, and nothing he did managed to meet Sanada's expectations. He had dug through memory after memory, eliminating fear after fear and doubt after doubt. How he was supposed to complete overcome the elements of surprise and confusion by simply thinking about them when that was confusing in itself?

"This is ridiculous," he informed the ceiling and, to some extent, Sanada, who simply rolled his eyes in response. "You can't say I haven't tried," Atobe continued, sitting up. "We've been sitting here for hours. I've complied with all of your requests."

"I agree it seems a bit pointless, considering the fact that you do not wish to practice kendo solely for the purpose of practicing kendo. But I maintain that it is completely unreasonable for you to simply pick up a shinai and have a go at things simply because you believe that your general superiority allows you to naturally excel at everything you attempt."

"It does," Atobe grumbled. Sanada sighed.

"In any case, at least you've managed to work through some, if not all, of your fears and doubts. I wouldn't be surprised if that ends up being beneficial. You may find that it's far easier to concentrate on achieving... What was it? Koori no Sekai, with these fears and doubts eliminated." He rose and began disrobing once more. "I should return home."

Atobe watched him slip out of his keikogi, and felt his heartbeat quicken.

"Stay for dinner," he said suddenly. "We need to further discuss my training and if I'm going to be spending the next two weeks in your..." he paused for a moment and glanced rather apprehensively at Sanada. "...company," he finally continued, "I might as well make at least some effort to get to know you," he said. Sanada frowned and pulled on his cap.

"Please don't feel obligated," he said, reaching for his bag. "I don't need to be your best friend to teach you tennis."

"Don't be stupid. You'll stay, because I told you to," Atobe replied, rising gracefully to his feet and crossing the room. He pulled open the door and shouted, "Yuushi! Call for take-out, and order slightly more than usual. Sanada's staying!" There came an indecipherable response, and Sanada sighed and begrudgingly set his bag back down. Atobe changed quickly, leaving his hakama and keikogi in an unceremonious heap on the floor as he pulled his shirt over his head and ran a hand through his hair. Sanada scowled.

"You ought to fold that correctly. And it's rude to invite someone for a meal and then order take-out."

Atobe shrugged nonchalantly and sauntered toward the door, beckoning for Sanada to follow.

"I fired our personal chef two months ago, and none of us can cook."

"That's ridiculous. Even I can make the most basic dishes," Sanada said, frowning. Atobe turned to regard him with a curious eye.

"Really, now? Interesting... Alright, you'll make dinner. Yuushi! Cancel the take-out. Sanada's cooking."

Oshitari poked his head out of a nondescript room and eyed Sanada with interest.

"He can cook?"

"Apparently," Atobe replied. Oshitari chuckled.

"Honestly, there must be something terribly wrong with the lot of us if we can be out-cooked by a tennis player," he drawled, before his thin lips settled into a smirk. "Good luck finding anything but Top Ramen in that kitchen," he said, before disappearing back into the room.

"I'm sure you can manage Top Ramen without me," Sanada said, glaring at the air Oshitari's head had just occupied and stepping back toward the room in which they had been practicing to reclaim his bag. Atobe halted him with a single look, however, and started off down the hallway. Sanada had no choice but to follow, mouth set in a grim line. They entered a large, beautifully furnished, westernized kitchen. The granite counters glistened in the soft lighting, and a large refrigerator hummed pleasantly in the corner. Atobe began opening cupboards, tossing small cans and bottles over his shoulder every now and then. Sanada struggled to catch them, darting around the room like a madman as he chased after the glass tubes of various herbs. Finally, after Atobe had gone through nearly every cupboard in the room, the two of them stood in silence, gazing at the pile that had accumulated on the counter. There was a large, unopened bag of rice, at least twenty bottles of herbs and spices that looked as if they had never been touched, let alone cooked with, and a bottle of rice vinegar. In the fridge, they managed to unearth a package of smoked salmon that didn't look too old, as well as a jar of pickled plums.

"Well?" Atobe said finally, turning to gaze at Sanada, who slowly began rolling up his sleeves.

"Get me a large saucepan," he instructed, reaching for the rice. Atobe fished through various drawers and finally uncovered a large metal pot which he proffered rather uncertainly. Sanada took it with a nod and carefully filled it with water before placing it on the stove. "Measure out ten cups of rice and rinse it," he ordered, as he began picking through the spices.

"Ten cups?" Atobe said doubtfully. "Will that be enough?"

"Yes," Sanada replied. "It will probably leave some extra for leftovers, which you can eat cold tomorrow. It's unhealthy to eat take-out as often as I suspect you do." Atobe shrugged and began carefully measuring out the rice. Sanada had managed to find a bowl and was mixing herbs in a surprisingly confident manner.

"What are we making?" Atobe asked, watching with almost childish interest as handfuls of rice ran through his fingers as he washed the grains.

"We'll just do something simple with the rice and the salmon," Sanada replied. "I don't know exactly. When you're done washing the rice, pour it carefully into the pot and then put the lid on. Keep a careful watch on it; once it's reached the boiling point, time it for about 10 minutes, then turn the heat off and let it sit for a while."

From the doorway, Oshitari, Mukahi, Shishido, and Hiyoshi watched, mouths open in shock, as Atobe was effectively bossed around by this strange, serious tennis player.

"How does he _do that?_" Mukahi hissed. "I've never seen Atobe so, so..."

"Submissive?" Oshitari offered. Mukahi shrugged and nodded.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Who the hell is he, anyway? Why the hell does he have Atobe wrapped around his finger after a matter of hours when we've had to endure him for years and he's still an asshole to us?" Shishido whined. Hiyoshi said nothing, simply watching with interest. Oshitari smiled rather smugly as he watched Atobe's eyes follow Sanada around the kitchen.

"I think our little Atobe's fallen in love," he announced, smirking. Shishido snorted.

"Please. Atobe, with someone like _that?_" Oshitari shrugged.

"Love knows no rules," he replied. Shishido rolled his eyes.

"You read too many of those trashy romance novels. If the guy at the McDonald's smiled at me funny you'd think he was ready to elope with me." Oshitari sighed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Your ignorance is amusing, Shishido. But I'll take advantage of it. Let's make a bet. 10,000 yen says they kiss by the end of these two weeks." Shishido scowled.

"How the hell are we gonna know if they've kissed?" he demanded.

"Because Atobe wouldn't know subtle if it bit him on the ass," Oshitari replied. "Now, deal or no deal?"

"Fine," Shishido replied, sticking out his hand. "It's on." Oshitari chuckled and shook the shorter boy's hand lightly.

"Excellent. Now, if you'll excuse me." He wandered away, smirk still playing about his lips. Shishido rolled his eyes again and stalked off to play guitar. Mukahi and Hiyoshi stood there for a moment longer, watching, before Mukahi yawned.

"Wanna go jam with Shishido?" he asked, opening one eye and gazing lazily at Hiyoshi, who shrugged and set off in the direction of the soundproof music room. Mukahi skipped after him just as Sanada glanced up at the doorway from where he had been mixing the herbs into soy sauce.

"Sanada, the rice has cooled," Atobe announced, gingerly poking the thick white grains.

"Good. Pour some of this over it and mix it around," Sanada instructed, reaching for the rice vinegar. As he passed it to Atobe, their fingers brushed slightly, and their eyes locked for a second, before Sanada looked away. His face felt uncomfortably hot and he scowled into the soy sauce. He must be getting sick again.

Dinner was ready in another ten minutes. Sanada had shown Atobe how to lay out a bed of rice, over which he placed thin strips of smoked salmon and poured the herbs and soy sauce. It was an exceedingly simple dish, but would taste fine nonetheless and had been the best he could do with the little ingredients he had to work with. Atobe's entire band dug into it as if they had never tasted finer food in their life, licking and smacking their lips in satisfaction as they devoured the meal.

"You're good," Shishido announced between bites, eyeing Sanada. "This is good."

"Thank you," he replied, staring solemnly back at the blue-capped boy.

"So, like, are you really good at this tennis stuff?" Mukahi asked, wiping the soy sauce from his chin with his sleeve and attempting to sneak a piece of salmon off of Oshitari's plate, who watched the fish go with an amused smile.

"Yes," Sanada replied steadily.

"So, does that mean that you're team captain and stuff?" Gakuto continued, mouth full.

"Vice captain."

"Ooh." Mukahi paused for a moment before turning to face Atobe. "Why didn't you want the captain to coach you? He must be better than him-" he jerked a thumb in Sanada's direction "-if _he's_ only vice captain."

"I liked Sanada's play style and the way he held himself on the court," Atobe replied calmly. "I've never seen Yukimura play, but you really shouldn't be criticizing my judgement, Mukahi, considering you know absolutely nothing about tennis." Gakuto shrugged.

"Whatever," he replied. "Is there any more of this?"

"In the refrigerator," Sanada said, nodding. "For tomorrow." He glanced at his watch and frowned. "I need to excuse myself, it's late and I've neglected my schoolwork." He rose and Atobe followed suit. Oshitari sent a smug smile in Shishido's direction, who scowled.

"I'll show you to your things and then the door," Atobe said. "I doubt your ability to find your own way." Sanada frowned but did not protest, silently following Atobe out of the kitchen and down the hall. They reached the room quickly and Atobe waited quietly by the door as Sanada recovered his bag. As soon as he had everything, Atobe turned on his heel and started down the hallway toward the front door. Sanada had to scramble to catch up with him, and nearly went the wrong way several times. Finally, he found himself at the front door, strangely reluctant to leave. Atobe turned the knob and wrenched open the door in a manner that Sanada found rather perturbing.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Sanada mumbled, bowing slightly. Atobe nodded.

"My driver will be there to pick you up tomorrow as usual. Try not to keep him waiting this time," he replied, smirking slightly.

Sanada stared at him, strangely entranced by his icy grey eyes and thin, red lips. Suddenly, he dropped his bag and stepped forward, toward Atobe, who watched him, unmoving, as if rooted to the spot. Sanada felt himself reach up and grab Atobe's shoulders, pushing him gently against the wall. He could barely feel the fabric of Atobe's shirt beneath his fingers, and the blood pounding in his ears muted the sounds around him. Atobe's mouth was moving but Sanada couldn't discern any words, so he simply kept moving, bringing his face closer to Atobe's, completely overwhelmed by his sudden desire for the silver-haired boy. Their lips were millimeters apart when something in Sanada clicked back to life and as Yukimura's face flashed across his mind he became horribly aware of Atobe's warm body beneath his and his moist breath, escaping from barely-parted lips that lay only a whisper away from his own. With a jolt, Sanada reeled backwards, stumbling slightly in his hurry. Atobe simply stood there, not bothering to fix his shirt, which was crumpled around the shoulders and hitched up over his left hip. He gazed rather fixedly at Sanada, who reached blindly for his bag, muttered a quick goodbye, turned on his heel, and stalked out.

As the sound of Sanada's footsteps grew fainter, Atobe slammed the door shut with a sharp hiss and made his way to his room. Oshitari watched as he strode purposefully by the kitchen and sighed.

"Oh dear," he murmured. "This has hit Atobe rather hard."

"What d'ya mean?" Mukahi asked. "What'cha talkin' about?" Oshitari simply shook his head and rose.

"Please excuse me," he said, pushing his chair in and lifting his plate from the table and setting it delicately on the counter. "Shishido, do the dishes."

"What? Why me?" Shishido cried indignantly.

"Just do it," Oshitari replied, before sweeping out of the room. He found Atobe sprawled across his bed, gazing up at the ceiling. Oshitari cleared his throat, and the pop star sat up, scowling.

"What do you want?" he demanded, turning to gaze icily at his manager.

"You've fallen for Sanada," Oshitari declared, deciding that beating around the bush had never really worked with Atobe.

"Don't be ridiculous," Atobe sneered, and fell back onto the mattress, slipping his hands under his head. "I couldn't care less about him." Oshitari shook his head.

"No, you've fallen for him. Hard."

"What the hell makes you think you know everything?" Atobe snapped. "If I was falling in love with someone, I'm quite sure I'd be aware of it."

"No," Oshitari replied, "because you're in denial. You don't think you should fall for Sanada, so you're telling yourself you haven't."

"And I'm right," Atobe muttered, rolling onto his side. "As usual. Now get lost. I'm tired."

"No," Oshitari said, adjusting his glasses. "Not until you admit to me that you've fallen for Sanada and explain why you're not going to do anything about it. This is very much unlike you, who usually goes for whatever you want without a second thought."

"I'm not going to do anything about it because there isn't anything to do something about," Atobe replied, his scowl deepening. Oshitari sighed.

"Grow up, Atobe. I've never seen you like this before, which means that as dull and strict as he may appear, Sanada has had a unique effect on you, and you're a fool for letting such an opportunity slip away."

Atobe was silent for a moment, before he whispered, in a muffled voice, "he has a boyfriend." Oshitari smiled slightly. Atobe had just admitted defeat.

"How do you know?" he asked. "He seems far too... conventional to indulge in something like that."

"He's dating his captain," Atobe said. "One of his teammates told me."

"When?" Oshitari scoffed.

"When they came to collect him," Atobe replied, closing his eyes. "So there you have it. Case closed. Leave."

"And since when has someone's unavailability stopped you from pursuing them?" Oshitari pressed. "Something about the two of you feels... right."

"Oh, come on, Oshitari," Atobe hissed. "This isn't one of your novels." He sat up and pulled his shirt over his head and reached for his silken pajama top. Oshitari simply shrugged and rose.

"If you say so, Atobe. But when you look back on your life and realize what an idiot you were to let this chance slip away, please remember that I was right there telling you to go for it." With that, he left, letting the door click shut behind him. Atobe finished dressing and crawled into bed, too tired and confused to bother brushing his teeth. He pulled the blankets up around his chin and sighed, remembering the warm, strong feel of Sanada's hands on his shoulders and the way he had smelled; like smoky wood and soy sauce. Atobe moaned and closed his eyes. As Sanada had moved toward him, all he could think about was how his lips would feel, and what he was thinking, didn't he have a boyfriend? And how he had been horribly unable to move, as if Sanada had cast some strange spell upon him. And how he had wanted it. Badly.

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Sorry, this one was a little lengthy. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Reviews (and Tango Pair fics) are killer awesome. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Hey, sorry it took _so_ long for this update to come. Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter, it's much appreciated!

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Sanada slammed his fist against his bedroom door, before letting his hand fall to his side.

"What the hell was I thinking?" he muttered, tossing his cap onto his desk. Collapsing onto his bed, he brought his hands behind his head and gazed up at the ceiling. All he could see was the way Atobe's face had crinkled in confusion as he, Sanada Genichiroh, had slammed him against the wall and nearly kissed him.

_Nearly kissed him._

Sanada groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. There was no way he could face Yukimura tomorrow, not after he had so blatantly betrayed him. And he didn't even want to think about seeing Atobe.

--

"Sanada-kun? Would you please continue from where Yamaka-kun left off?"

Sanada looked up, surprised, when the teacher called his name. From across the room, Yukimura watched him with a worried expression on his face. Sanada desperately scanned the text, mentally berating himself for being caught off-guard, until the boy next to him whispered, "Line 64," and Sanada rose and began reading.

When the bell rang, Sanada made a mad dash for the doorway, but Yukimura was faster, suddenly appearing before him and grabbing his wrist, jerking him down the hall and pushing him roughly into an empty classroom.

"Sit," he ordered, pointing to a chair. Sanada sighed and dropped into it, gazing up at Yukimura with tired eyes. He had barely slept the night before, haunted by images of Atobe and Yukimura. "Now," the blue-haired boy began, "tell me what's bothering you, Genichiroh." He stared at the capped boy intently, waiting for an answer.

"Nothing," Sanada muttered. "I've just been having trouble sleeping."

"Don't lie to me!" Yukimura snapped, slamming his hand down on the desk. Sanada looked up in surprise.

"I'm not," he said, maintaining eye contact. Yukimura sighed.

"Genichiroh," he murmured, reaching out and gently touching the other boy's cheek, his eyes widening in hurt and surprise when Sanada flinched. "Why?"

Sanada was silent for a moment, before he suddenly stood. The legs of the chair scraped harshly along the ground.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, before disappearing out of the classroom, leaving Yukimura to stare after his retreating figure in silence, his dark eyes glinting softly in the afternoon light.

--

Atobe watched from behind the safety of the tinted glass window as Sanada stepped out of his school gates, his tennis bag slung over one shoulder, book bag over the other. He caught sight of the car and started toward it, when suddenly another boy appeared from behind the gates. His long hair was held back by a thick, white sweatband and he wore the yellow uniform Atobe recognized from the time he had watched Sanada and his team play in the tournament. He was running toward Sanada, shouting something Atobe couldn't discern. Sanada stopped and turned around, and the boy, who Atobe now recognized as Yukimura, stopped before him. He said something to which Sanada did not reply, before gazing over the taller boy's shoulder and spotting the car. His eyes narrowed and he began speaking again, his hair lifting around his face in the wind. From where Atobe sat, Yukimura looked the picture of malicious beauty. Finally, Sanada's mouth moved, and Yukimura was silent for a moment, before he turned away and disappeared back into the school grounds. Sanada watched him go, before turning and starting back toward the car. Atobe inhaled deeply. His driver slipped out of the car to greet Sanada, who climbed silently into the backseat and looked surprised to see Atobe there. There was a tense moment, before Atobe said, sounding surprisingly timid, "Hello, Sanada."

"Atobe," Sanada sighed, nodding his acknowledgment. There was another long silence, before suddenly Atobe turned to him again.

"Sanada," he began, and the capped boy looked up, caught off-guard by the desperation in his voice. "Am I causing problems for you?" Sanada gazed at him for a moment, shocked, before shaking his head.

"The world doesn't revolve around you, Atobe," he replied, but there was no sting in his words. Atobe chose not to reply, and soon enough, Sanada continued. "No. You're not," he said through gritted teeth, and turned his attention out the window. The rest of the car ride was carried out in silence.

--

"Have you forgotten everything we went over yesterday?" Sanada demanded, striding over to Atobe, who stood panting on the other side of the court. They had attempted to finish their game, but Sanada was growing more and more frustrated with his opponent, who struggled to return every shot.

"No," the pop star snapped, glaring up at him. Sanada noticed that the area under his eyes was bruised from lack of sleep, and his usually piercing blue eyes were watery and rimmed with red.

"Atobe, are you alright?" he asked, his tone somewhat gentler. The silver-haired boy rose to his full height and nodded determinedly.

"Of course," he replied, tossing his head. The quick movement made him stumble, however, and Sanada frowned.

"Atobe, you should have said something if you aren't feeling well. You're just going to make yourself worse by trying to play."

"I told you, I'm fine!" Atobe hissed. "I had trouble sleeping last night, is all." Sanada sighed and grabbed him by the shoulder. To his surprise, Atobe quickly wrenched himself away. "Don't touch me!" he spat.

"Atobe, what the hell is going on?"

"For the hundredth time, everything is perfect!" Atobe all but shouted. "Now quit your incessant worrying, get back to your side of the court, and play tennis!" Sanada's scowl deepened.

"I refuse to be responsible for you when your foolish stubbornness results in injury or illness," he said.

"No one's blaming you, you self-centered imbecile," Atobe shot back. A look of shock crossed Sanada's face, before his expression darkened and he took a step toward Atobe. Crossing his arms indignantly across his chest, the smaller boy moved backward, but in his haste he tripped over his own feet and felt himself begin to tumble toward the ground. Sanada's hand shot out and caught him, and there they stood for a long moment, Atobe barely standing, held up only by Sanada's firm grip on his wrist.

"I quit," Sanada suddenly announced, through clenched teeth. "I've given you more chances than you deserve. This, _you,_ are ridiculous." He roughly jerked Atobe back onto his feet before starting toward his bag. The silver-haired boy watched in silence as Sanada stalked away. His vision was blurred around the edges and things were slowly beginning to spin, but all he could think about was the bitterness in Sanada's voice.

_"This, _you,_ are ridiculous."_

Atobe didn't know why, but for some strange reason, the pain, the strange, tugging feeling on his heart as Sanada grabbed his bag and started toward the door, was unlike anything he had ever felt before. As the door slammed shut, his chest began to seize up and his hands shook uncontrollably. Swearing softly, he took a shaky step toward his bag.

"Not now, not now," he muttered, stumbling slightly. He was supposed to have gotten over these attacks. His legs suddenly gave out from beneath him and he crumpled to the ground. His head was throbbing and he groaned as he lifted his hands to massage his temples. The room grew darker, and Atobe released another long groan before letting his eyes fall shut.

Sanada started toward the elevator, still seething. Atobe Keigo was truly impossible. He jabbed at the down button before glancing down at his bare arms and realizing, with a groan, that he had forgotten his jacket. Heaving a sigh that was uncharacteristically loud, he started back toward the court, expecting to have Atobe screaming in his face the moment he stepped through the door. As he pushed through the glass entryway, however, he was greeted by the sight of Atobe, curled into a ball, lying motionless right where he had left him. Panicking, Sanada dropped his bag and started toward Atobe at a full sprint. He dropped to his knees beside him and rolled him onto his back. He was obviously unconscious, but was breathing regularly. Good. He was alive. Sanada sat back on his heels, his initial panic slowly beginning to subside. He remembered Atobe saying something about a personal doctor, and rising to his feet, Sanada jogged toward the pop star's bag. Fishing through the pockets, he finally produced a cell phone, which he quickly flipped open. Scrolling through the contacts, he settled on Oshitari's number. Surely he would know what to do. The phone rang twice before Oshitari answered.

"Atobe, I--"

"This is Sanada. Atobe fainted."

There was a long sigh from the other end of the line.

"Oh, dear, and we thought... Well, don't worry too much, Sanada-kun. He used to do this quite often. That's why we have Ootori-sensei on hand. I'll send the car back to pick him up. Will you be alright taking the train home?"

Sanada glanced over at Atobe's limp figure and found himself strangely reluctant to leave him. He heard a soft chuckle from Oshitari, before the manager continued. "Or, are you perhaps so concerned about Atobe's well-being that you would like to accompany him home?"

Sanada frowned.

"I would like to see him recover," he replied stonily.

"Oh, yes, of course. I can image this was quite shocking for you. A driver is already on his way. You don't mind meeting him out there, do you? Atobe's not too heavy, I'm sure you can manage. Thank you very much for you concern, Sanada-kun, I'm sure Atobe will appreciate it." With that, he hung up.

Sanada flipped the phone shut and shoved it back into the bag. There was something about Oshitari that was endlessly annoying. Quickly sliding into his jacket, Sanada started toward Atobe, who was, as Oshitari had promised, surprisingly easy to lift. His body was warm against Sanada's, and the capped boy couldn't suppress the blush that slowly crept across his cheeks. He spared a glance at the pop star's face and felt the blush deepen. Atobe was, without question, beautiful. Not in the way Yukimura was beautiful, though. Atobe looked strong where Yukimura needed protection, and he radiated an independence that bluntly informed everyone around him that he had no real need for them, and that they were nothing more than his playthings. This standoffish aura, Sanada realized, was what attracted so many people to him. They all subconsciously wanted to be the only thing that Atobe truly _needed_. And, although he absolutely refused to admit it, even in his subconscious, Sanada was falling into the same trap.

* * *

Reviews are lovely... :)


	7. Chapter 7

Hey, sorry about the false post yesterday. I put the chapter up, but then I received some really helpful comments from kerricarri, so I took the chapter down and made some edits. Hopefully this version is a little more clear. We do some delving into Atobe's past in this chapter! Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, it's much appreciated. Your feedback helps make this story better. :)

* * *

A tall young man with hair a similar shade to Atobe's opened the door to the mammoth apartment. Sanada vaguely recognized him as the shy doctor who had cared for him earlier in the week.

"Ah, Sanada-san, it's good to see you're feeling better," he said, stammering a bit. He was already observing Atobe, even from where he lay in Sanada's arms. "If you'll just bring Atobe-san this way..."

He started off down the corridor and Sanada followed after him. Various members of the band poked their heads out of doors, eyebrows raised, but none seemed too distressed over Atobe's condition. Apparently Oshitari hadn't lied. He _did _do this often.

Ootori stopped beside a tall door and motioned for Sanada to step inside. The walls of the room were painted a silvery grey, which made Sanada feel surprisingly cold. A large bed sat in the middle of the room, covered in a thick, downy comforter dyed a deep indigo.

"You can just set him down on the bed, please," Ootori mumbled, rummaging through a bag. Sanada carefully laid Atobe down before stepping back to observe the room more closely. A white trim accompanied the gloomy walls, and curtains which perfectly matched the color of the duvet hung on either side of the three large windows that opened up to show the city of Tokyo below. There was a desk in one corner, on which sat nothing but a small stack of papers and a fountain pen. What surprised Sanada most, however, was the massive, floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that occupied one corner. The shelf was overflowing with books, and as Sanada took a step closer, he recognized the names of several philosophers, as well as a particularly tattered copy of The Sailor Who Fell From Grace With The Sea. As he continued scanning the spines, he realized with a jolt that many of the books were in English, and others in French, Greek, German, Italian, and several other languages he didn't even recognize. He felt movement behind him, and turned to see Ootori standing a few feet away, smiling slightly.

"Atobe-san is very fond of books," he said. "These are his favorites. He keeps the rest in the study."

"Can he read all of them?" Sanada asked rather incredulously.

Ootori nodded.

"Atobe-san has a real gift for languages. He picks them up extraordinarily quickly." He smiled again. "Although his exterior is rather abrasive, Atobe-san is really an amazing person."

Sanada nodded dumbly.

"Is this his room?"

"Yes," Ootori said, turning back to Atobe and pressing his stethoscope to his chest. He was silent for a moment, listening intently to the beat of the silver-haired boy's heart.

Sanada found himself battling rising feelings of jealousy. As his doctor, Ootori was probably the closest person to becoming Atobe's one true need. When Ootori pulled back, he turned to Sanada again and smiled.

"Atobe-san will be fine," he informed him. "He had a panic attack. They used to occur quite frequently, but we eventually managed to control them. Or so we thought, in any case..." He sighed. "We think they're a result of his stressful childhood. He suffered through a lot back then. From what I understand, his parents, especially his father, were incredibly harsh. When I first met him, he had the attacks on a fairly regular basis. He was fifteen then. Oshitari was pushing him to make friends outside of the band, but because of his arrogance he had a lot of trouble finding people that truly cared for him. Eventually, things became so bad that when the phone rang for him, he would have an attack. Things got better when Oshitari stopped pushing things, but only marginally. It took a lot to get him this close to normal. I don't know what could have triggered this attack..." He shook his head, and Sanada felt a tug of guilt. _This, you, are ridiculous._ He swallowed hard and glanced back at Ootori, who was smiling softly at Atobe. "Anyway, he'll most likely be up and about in a matter of hours. Thank you very much for your concern, Sanada-san. I'm sure he'll greatly appreciate it."

"You don't need to tell him I came," Sanada mumbled. Ootori looked surprised.

"Oh, but I'm sure he'd be happy." He smiled rather sadly. "Atobe-san is certainly very fortunate, and he has many adoring fans, but rarely does he meet someone that seems to care more about the fact that he is a rich, handsome pop idol. Atobe-san has had some unfortunate experiences with very shallow people. Don't tell him I said this to you, but sometimes, I think Atobe-san is very lonely. He has his band mates, and Oshitari-san and me, as well as Kabaji-san, but although we are all his friends, we are all here because our services are required." He sighed wistfully. "It must be difficult for Atobe-san. I don't think he trusts many people at all. Anyway, I'm sorry, I'm keeping you here with all of my meaningless talk. You must have places you need to be."

Sanada slowly shook his head.

"If it's not an intrusion, I'll stay," he said. Ootori beamed.

"Oh, excellent. You must really be something else, Sanada-san. Atobe-san is very lucky to have met you." He smiled down at Atobe, who lay still on the bed, breathing softly. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I have several phone calls I need to make. I'll be back to check on him in a while. Let me know when he wakes up, please." With that, he bowed and left the room. Sanada remained where he was for a moment, before carefully perching on the edge of Atobe's bed. He gazed silently at the young pop star.

Now that he thought about it, everything Ootori had said made sense. Atobe's success and popularity was, in some ways, a curse. It must be impossible for him to tell when someone is genuinely interested in him and when someone wanted only an inlet to his bank account. Suddenly, he remembered something Atobe had told him during their first match. _Over the years, I developed a strange talent for reading into people. _With a slow, sinking feeling, Sanada realized that the real sting of Atobe's curse came from the fact that he _did_ know exactly who wanted him only for his wealth and fame. And knowing the level of greed that enveloped a majority of the world, Sanada guessed that that was the case far more often than not.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by someone clearing their throat. He looked up to see Ootori standing in the doorway, smiling apologetically.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Sanada-san, but Oshitari-san was hoping to have a word with you."

Sanada nodded silently and rose. He followed Ootori several feet down the hallway and entered through the door to which he pointed. Oshitari was working at a computer. His glasses sat, abandoned, on the desk next to him, and his fingers were flying over the keyboard. He looked up when Sanada walked through the door.

"Oh, Sanada-kun," he drawled, "do you mind if I steal a few minutes of your time?"

Sanada simply shrugged and tugged on his cap. Oshitari smirked and pointed to a chair.

"Please, have a seat." He eyed Sanada carefully, before sitting back and remarking, "you look a bit out of it, Sanada-kun."

"I was thinking," Sanada replied begrudgingly.

"Ah," Oshitari said, rubbing his chin in thought. "About Atobe?" He paused for a moment, but Sanada didn't answer. "You know, there's a lot more to him than meets the eye." Sanada looked up.

"I know."

"Do you?" Oshitari hummed, fiddling with his glasses. Sanada frowned and remained silent. "Anyway," Oshitari continued, "I have a favor to ask of you."

Sanada raised his eyebrows.

"Stop playing tennis with Atobe and show him what it's like to be a normal teenager."

"Why?" Sanada asked, frowning.

"Because at the moment, he is living in a fairy tale and one day or another he is going to have to face reality. I would rather him do it with you than on his own."

"Why can't you help him?"

"I've known Atobe since he was fourteen," Oshitari said impatiently. "I am part of his fairy tale. Anything I introduce him to becomes part of the story, too."

"He's a celebrity. Fine." Sanada crossed his arms. "He's only eighteen. Fine. But surely he has some concept of reality. He had to have grown up."

"Sanada, Atobe didn't have a chance to grow up. He ran away from home at the age of thirteen. He took his savings and _left._"

"What?" Sanada spluttered. "_Why_?"

Oshitari shrugged. "He was unhappy at home."

"Unhappy," Sanada repeated slowly. _"__Unhappy?_ Unhappy enough to _run away?_ What exactly made him so dissatisfied?"

"He and his father tended to... Clash," Oshitari said, reaching for his glasses and slipping them back on. "As the owner of an incredibly successful business corporation, his father was distant figure. Of course, Atobe couldn't have cared less about this. He probably wouldn't have minded living a life completely separate from that of his father's. However, the man tended to make appearances at times that Atobe found less than convenient. Atobe's father had a strict idea of exactly what he wanted out of his son and allowed no time for anything that was unrelated to his plan for Atobe's future. Atobe once told me the one time he was careless and played the violin while his father was at home, his violin had been broken over his father's knee and his sheet music burned."

"That's rather extreme," Sanada said, furrowing his brows.

"Yes, well. I would suppose it was the things like that which eventually drove him to run away." Oshitari sighed and turned off the computer monitor. "Atobe enjoys being mysterious," he said, sitting back in his chair. "There's a fair deal I don't know about him, but since you seem intrigued, I'll let you in on a few secrets."

--

"I met Atobe in the supermarket when I was nineteen years old. He was fourteen by then, I believe. We both reached for the same bottle of mineral water." Oshitari smirked slightly at the memory. "I remember glancing down into this pair of fierce eyes, and Atobe saying, 'It's _mine._'"

"He would," Sanada muttered.

"In any case, from there, we got to talking. He proudly informed me that he had run away from home and was living in a hotel. He told me that this was simply a temporary arrangement, however, because he was soon going to become a world famous singer. I thought he was interesting, so I invited him to my apartment for a cup of tea. To my surprise, he agreed. I suppose he was lonely. While he is just the sort of headstrong, independent fellow to get it together and run away from home, he enjoys the company of others. He must have missed having someone to speak with." Oshitari chuckled. "I was a college student at the time. Anyway, things lead to other things, and I finally ended up inviting him to live with me."

Sanada raised his eyebrows.

"Now, now," Oshitari said, laughing. "Don't go getting strange ideas. This was a purely platonic arrangement. I was nineteen. Atobe was a kid."

"It's the way you said it," Sanada muttered. Oshitari shrugged.

"Perhaps you're reading too deeply into what I'm saying," he said airily. "Continuing on, that year, I introduced Atobe to Shishido, who was the son of my neighbor. Ryou was in a laid back sort of band with Jiroh and Hiyoshi. The four of them got along quite well, although Atobe and Shishido tended to argue. Jiroh found Mukahi through his school's music program, and the next thing I knew, the phone was ringing off the hook and Atobe was coming home at two in the morning, holding envelops full of cash and reeking of smoke."

"Hold on," Sanada said, frowning. "Smoke? Where exactly was he playing?"

"Clubs, bars..." Oshitari shrugged. "They were all around sixteen by then, but the managers tended to overlook that. They were talented. People wanted to see them play."

"And you didn't stop him? Them?"

Oshitari laughed. "Stop Atobe? Please. I may be his manager, but if Atobe wants something, he'll get it in the end. It doesn't matter how hard I fight."

"I am having difficulty imagining Atobe agreeing to play in clubs and bars that would be unprofessional enough to give him envelopes full of cash."

Oshitari shrugged. "Atobe was determined to rise to the top. He was prepared to fight his way through anything to become the best, and he told me so without any reservation. Smoky bars and cheap clubs were all part of the deal, I suppose." Oshitari tapped the desk with his long, elegant fingers. "He ran away from home. I'm sure there was a point in time when not many people would have expected that from him. But he did it."

"Ootori said he suffered from panic attacks," Sanada said. "Where do those fit in?"

Oshitari nodded, his expression suddenly solemn. "The attacks were terrible. I'm afraid I made them worse when I pressured him to seek the company of other kids his age."

"Why didn't his shows bring on these attacks?"

"Atobe was... Perhaps still is, afraid of interacting with people directly. He is afraid that they will see past the persona he has created for himself and sense his vulnerability. Which," Oshitari continued, "I think you have already done."

Sanada shifted in his chair and avoided Oshitari's eyes.

"But when Atobe performs for a group, this fear vanishes. To him, his fans are faceless bodies. People he will never have to speak to except through a microphone, on a stage where he is in control of everything that happens."

"I suppose that makes sense," Sanada mumbled.

"I was lucky with Shishido. He was brash enough to see only the arrogance that Atobe asserted, and so Atobe felt he could converse with him without the fear of having his 'inner self' exposed. And because he felt he could trust Shishido, Jiroh, Hiyoshi, and later Mukahi appeared relatively safe. I could see that Atobe was very careful around them, and it was not until much later in their career together that Atobe allowed himself to relax. I think that even now, many of them struggle to differentiate between Atobe his façade."

"Okay," Sanada said slowly. "So he becomes famous. What about his family? Surely his father wouldn't want his runaway son all over the news."

"I know next to nothing about Atobe and his father," Oshitari said. "But from what I can gather, Atobe's father has not kicked up a fuss about his son's stardom because it is not common knowledge that Atobe ran away from home. Atobe's father kept the entire thing quiet because he was afraid that his business would suffer if his clients suspected trouble at home. So if he panicked the moment his son appeared as a pop idol, people would have been suspicious. I'm sure he has simply acted as if he has been entirely aware of his son's actions for the past five years. But, as I said. Atobe does not talk about his father, and so, everything I just told you is simply speculation. If you're really curious, ask Atobe yourself."

Sanada simply sighed.

"So, do you agree that Atobe could use a taste of reality?" Oshitari drawled, twirling a pen between his long fingers.

"Isn't that a bit cruel, though?" Sanada asked. "To show him something and then take it away?"

Oshitari shook his head.

"Who said it will be taken away?" he inquired.

"It has to be," Sanada argued. "He's leaving in just over a week."

"It's not as if he's never coming back. It will be good for him to have someone to return to." Sanada's eyebrows shot up.

"You seem to have forgotten that we're completely incompatible."

"You seem to have forgotten that the Atobe you're apparently incompatible with exists only as a mask. And anyway, from what I've seen, you two seem to get along quite well," Oshitari said, with an air of finality. "Now, you're dismissed. I'll inform Atobe of the plans. Not so directly, of course, so don't mention anything I said to him. But I'm sure he'd have a fit if he showed up to play tennis in shorts and a tee-shirt and was informed that he was actually going to the movies." With that, he turned back to the computer. Sanada stood there for a moment, rather shocked, before trudging back to Atobe's room. He accidently opened several wrong doors along the way, but luckily nothing lay behind them. When he finally arrived at the right place, Atobe was sitting up, conversing quietly with Ootori. He looked surprised to see Sanada.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, running a self-conscious hand through his hair. Ootori smiled.

"Sanada-san was worried about you, Atobe-san. He wanted to make sure you were alright."

Sanada suddenly found the ground incredibly interesting and Atobe's cheeks flushed a soft pink, much to Ootori's quiet amusement.

"Oh," Atobe said finally, quite stunned. Ootori rose to his feet and bowed graciously.

"Well, I have some paperwork to complete, so I'll excuse myself. Please let me know if your condition changes, Atobe-san." He walked quickly out of the room, giving Sanada a nod and a smile. There was a long, awkward silence, before finally Sanada cleared his throat.

"I didn't know you read," he said, gesturing to the bookshelf. Atobe shrugged.

"You don't know much about me," he replied, and Sanada realized that he was right. There was another long silence, before Sanada noticed a familiar CD lying on Atobe's bedside table. He reached for it, and recognized the cover as one identical to a disc he had at home. It was a CD of various tangos. He looked over at Atobe in surprise.

"You like tango?" he asked, rather incredulously.

"Yes," Atobe replied. "Do you?"

Sanada nodded.

"That's a particularly fine CD," Atobe continued. Sanada nodded again.

"Track eight," they began simultaneously, before Atobe chuckled softly.

"The _Libertango_," he said, and Sanada couldn't help but smile. "That version is my favorite, but I've never had a chance to see it performed live. I think Yo-Yo Ma does a remarkable job."

"He's very talented," Sanada agreed. They settled into another silence, but this one was far more comfortable.

"Sanada," Atobe said suddenly, and the capped boy looked up. "Do you love your boyfriend?"

Sanada looked surprised. He'd had no idea that Atobe was even aware that he was dating Yukimura. And now he wanted to know if he loved him? To be honest, couldn't say. There was a time not too long ago when he would have known the answer almost immediately. It would, of course, have been "yes." But now, as he gazed at Atobe, whose silvery blue eyes stared back expectantly, he didn't know. In fact, he couldn't even begin to think of the answer. He was struck by the way Atobe's eyes matched the walls almost perfectly, and wondered briefly if that had been purposeful. He suddenly remembered that he had been asked a question and fumbled quickly for the words.

"I don't know," he blurted, "because you-"

And just as quickly as he had started, he stopped, mid sentence, eyes wide. Atobe was watching him carefully.

"Because I what?" he asked softly, and Sanada was surprised to hear hurt in his voice.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head.

"I don't like it when people lie to me," Atobe informed him, and Sanada could tell that he was growing angry. "I asked you if I was causing problems for you."

"And I told you 'no,'" Sanada said.

"And is that the truth?" Atobe demanded, his voice rising.

"Yes," Sanada said stonily, but his eyes could not meet Atobe's and before he knew it, the pop star had grabbed him by the collar.

"Honestly?" Atobe hissed, and his eyes burned with anger.

"Yes," Sanada snapped, just as angry. Suddenly, Atobe released him, and he stumbled backwards.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice soft once more. "You said you quit."

"I changed my mind," Sanada replied.

"You mean Oshitari changed your mind for you," Atobe said quietly. Sanada considered the validity of this statement for a moment, before realizing that really, he had changed his mind the moment he'd said it. He informed Atobe of this. "Then you should think before you speak," Atobe said. They were quiet for a moment, before Sanada said,

"Oshitari doesn't want us to play tennis anymore."

"Why not?" Atobe demanded indignantly. Sanada shrugged.

"He told me to show you what it was like to be a normal kid," he said, deciding that there was really no way to beat around the bush. He hoped Oshitari's wrath wouldn't be too severe.

"That sounds interesting," Atobe replied. "What are we going to do?"

Sanada shrugged.

"I haven't decided."

"What do you do after school?" Atobe inquired.

"Tennis."

"And then?"

"Homework."

"After that?"

"Dinner. Bath. Bed," Sanada finished.

"How utterly dull."

"It's comfortable," Sanada argued.

"Don't you get bored?" Atobe asked. Sanada pondered his question for a moment before nodding.

"I suppose."

"I'm rarely bored," Atobe informed him.

"You're missing out, then," Sanada said, quite seriously. But Atobe laughed, and Sanada was duly shocked. The pop star's laugh was, strangely, incredibly alluring. It was soft and light, but at the same time genuine and full.

"Can I meet your team again?" Atobe asked suddenly, his laughter coming to a halt. Sanada shook himself out of his reverie and nodded.

"I suppose, if you want to."

Atobe nodded determinedly.

"Where do you usually go with them?" he asked curiously.

"All sorts of places," Sanada replied. "We went to your concert." Atobe's eyes lit up in surprise.

"So you had already had a chance to be awed by my awesome beauty before the tennis tournament," he mused, and Sanada had to truly fight the urge to roll his eyes. "Well, what did you think?" he asked. "Wasn't it impressive?"

Sanada remembered the way he had been so entranced by Atobe's grace onstage, and the way he could command the entire audience so effectively.

"Yes," he admitted. Atobe smirked.

"Of course it was," he said.

"Well, then why did you bother asking?" Sanada said, barely managing to keep the exasperation from his voice.

"Because I enjoy hearing it from other people, even if I already know it myself," Atobe replied. Sanada held back a sigh and glanced down at his watch. It was already 8:30.

"I need to go home," he said, standing. Atobe looked slightly disappointed.

"Of course," he said, waving his hand, "I forget that mere peasants such as yourself have schedules you must keep to. And don't forget," Atobe continued, his face darkening, "about tomorrow."

"I won't," Sanada promised.

"Good," Atobe said, "because I want to meet your boyfriend again."

Sanada swallowed hard and nodded slightly before dashing out of the room. He felt a strange twisting in his chest, and as he made his way out of the apartment, he realized with a jolt that he wanted to keep Atobe as far away from Yukimura as humanly possible. A feat that was now impossible.

* * *

The Sailor Who Fell From Grace With The Sea was written by Yukio Mishima. It is an excellent book, (if not a bit morbid) and I definitely recommend it.

"The Libertango" was written by Astor Piazzolla, and the particular version I referred to was performed by Yo-Yo Ma. The tango is the same one you hear in the background of Atobe and Sanada's doubles match in the Junior Senbatsu Arc. If you haven't heard it, I recommend looking it up on YouTube! Yo-Yo Ma is incredibly talented and it is a beautiful piece.

Reviews are still lovely! :) (As are little Tango one-shots... I'm still willing to give prompts)


	8. Chapter 8

Hey! Since this chapter is fairly short, I'm planning on updating again within the next two or three days. I had to split it from chapter nine, however, or it would have been too long. Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time, I appreciate it.

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Tomorrow came, in Sanada's opinion, all too quickly. He had called his teammates the night before and told them to keep the afternoon free, although he kept the reason why a secret, to spare himself the trouble of answering all of their questions.

Practice was already coming to an end, and as he followed his team into the locker room, he felt the nervousness which had been plaguing him all day increase. The rush of showers and the shouts of his teammates built up to become an unbearable headache, and, after washing himself quickly, Sanada changed and picked up his bag.

"I'll meet everyone out front," he called. "And don't dawdle."

With that, he strode out and headed toward the gates. As he rounded the corner and stepped onto the sidewalk, he saw Atobe leaning against the familiar silver car. He was talking on his cell phone, gesticulating impatiently with his left hand. He didn't see Sanada approach, and simply kept speaking. As Sanada drew closer, he realized that Atobe was not speaking Japanese, but English, and very fluently, at that. He could barely make out a word the pop star said, for Sanada's English wasn't fantastic to begin with and the way Atobe spoke made his words slip into each other. Sanada stepped closer and Atobe glanced up. He barked a final word into the phone before slamming it shut and slipping it into his pocket.

"Who was that?" Sanada asked, but Atobe waved his hand dismissively.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "Business."

Sanada nodded. "Have you recovered?" he inquired politely.

"Of course," Atobe replied. "As I'm sure you were told, that sort of thing used to happen often. Where's your team?" he demanded, changing the subject.

Sanada glanced over his shoulder and sighed. "Still changing," he said. "They'll be out soon."

Sure enough, moments later, Kirihara and Marui appeared, chatting amiably about the latest chapter of Naruto. They were followed by Jackal, Niou, and Yagyuu. Last came Yanagi and Yukimura.

Marui was the first to spot Atobe. He stopped short, his mouth hanging open in mid-word, his eyes wide. Kirihara followed his gaze and assumed a similar expression of utter shock. Jackal looked confused, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Niou, Yagyuu, Yukimura, and Yanagi all wore expressions of mild surprise.

"Well, well, if it isn't Atobe Keigo," Niou said, chuckling, as he sauntered toward the pop star. Atobe smirked.

"I remember you," he said. "You were vaguely amusing."

"Sanada!" Marui suddenly screeched, storming toward the vice captain. "What the _hell_ do you think you're playing at? How the hell can you just _stand there_ next to _Atobe Keigo_ like he's _nothing?_ Where the hell did he _come from,_ anyway? Explain!"

Sanada sighed. "It's a long story," he replied wearily.

"Well, _tell it!" _Marui exclaimed.

Atobe chuckled. "Sanada's been my tennis companion for the past few days," he said, glancing at Yukimura, who was standing with Yanagi, watching Atobe carefully.

"You can't be serious," Kirihara said, sticking his face into Atobe's. "This must be some sort of trick. It's probably Niou-senpai dressed up."

"There's only one problem with that idea, seaweed head," Niou drawled. "I'm right here."

Kirihara shrugged. "You could be someone else," he insisted, pulling away from Atobe.

"Impossible," Atobe replied. "No one can replicate the magnificence that is me."

"Prove it," Kirihara quipped. Sanada frowned.

"Akaya, watch your manners. I can assure you that this _is_ the real Atobe Keigo," he said, but Atobe just laughed.

"If this little brat wants proof, I'm all too happy to indulge," he said, pushing himself off the Audi. "What can I do for you?"

Kirihara thought for a moment, before grinning.

"Sing," he ordered. Atobe raised an eyebrow.

"Sing what?"

"Hmm.."

"_Broken,_" Marui cut in. "Sing _Broken,_ please!" He bowed low, his pink hair hanging in his eyes. Atobe gazed down at him.

"Okay," he agreed after a moment. He turned swiftly and pulled open the car door.

"Wait, where are you going?" Kirihara demanded. Atobe raised an eyebrow, and smirked.

"A karaoke bar, of course. If you get to hear me sing, then I want to hear you sing, too."

--

The karaoke bar was dimly lit, and relatively deserted, since it was still only five thirty and many of the regular patrons were still at work. The nine of them filed into a small room, and Atobe immediately began fiddling with the machine. Sanada took a seat on the long red couch beside Yukimura, who glanced up at him before turning back to watch Atobe. The strain of violins echoed through the speakers. Atobe closed his eyes, his foot tapping softly against the ground. The guitars joined in, and he began to sing.

"_Kowareta sora no kabe ga, daichi wo kegashiteku, unuboreta tsuke wa deka kute, yuuutsu wa fukureru bakari..._"

As the song progressed, Sanada found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the lean boy at the microphone. He was suddenly reminded of the concert, and the way he had felt so entranced by Atobe's strong, passionate voice and the way he moved so gracefully, his movements subtle but so definitely _there. _His silver hair swung across his face, brushing past his fierce blue eyes, and more than once Sanada had to drag his gaze away when Atobe turned to look at him. The moment the pop star looked away, however, Sanada found himself focusing on that same, elegant face.

The song ended far too soon, and nobody seemed ready for it. The room was silent for a long moment. Finally, Yukimura began clapping, and, as if woken from a trance, the rest of his team joined in.

Kirihara gave a long, low whistle. "Wow, Atobe-san."

Atobe laughed and flipped his hair out of his face. "Do you need any further displays of my prowess, or are you satisfied?"

Kirihara shook his head vigorously. "No, no, I believe you now!" he exclaimed.

"Good," Atobe replied smugly. "Now, it's only polite for one of you to offer to sing." He looked around the room, his eyes lingering for a moment longer on Sanada, before flicking his gaze to Yukimura and smirking. "Yukimura-kun, perhaps?"

Yukimura bared his teeth in a smile and rose.

"I'm only too happy to indulge, Atobe-san," he said.

Atobe sank onto the couch beside Sanada and watched the blue-haired boy select his song. As the music started, he glanced up at Sanada, who was staring in Yukimura's direction. When he sensed Atobe's movement, however, he looked down at him. Their eyes met for a moment, before Sanada turned away again. Yukimura began singing in a soft, lilting voice, and, Atobe realized with a bitter feeling, it was beautiful.

--

"So, so, Atobe-san, what did you think of my singing?" Kirihara asked, bouncing up and down beside the pop star. Atobe chuckled.

"Nowhere near as good as mine," he replied, smirking. Kirihara shrugged, the grin never leaving his face.

"Well, of course!" he said, rolling his eyes. "That's because you're _awesome!"_

Atobe laughed again.

A ways behind them, Sanada walked between Yanagi and Yukimura. They had left the karaoke bar and were wandering the streets somewhat aimlessly, peering into shop windows.

"Atobe seems surprisingly... amiable," Yanagi mused. Sanada raised an eyebrow at him.

"He could tell Kirihara and Marui they had shit for brains and they wouldn't care," he said dryly. Yanagi shook his head.

"No, it's not just them. He has a certain aura... It's very alluring," he muttered, watching thoughtfully as Jackal commented on something Marui said, drawing a sharp laugh from Atobe. Sanada remembered his thoughts the previous evening.

_This standoffish aura was what attracted so many people to him. They all subconsciously wanted to be the only thing that Atobe truly needed._

He shook his head, chuckling softly.

"What's funny, Genichiroh?" Yukimura asked softly, smiling up at him.

"Nothing," Sanada replied, smiling back. He didn't notice the strain in Yukimura's lips, the detachment in his dark eyes.

"This is fun," Yukimura said, looking away. It was spring, and the cherry blossoms lined the tree branches, swaying softly in the evening breeze.

"Mm," Sanada agreed, nodding. He reached for Yukimura's hand and intertwined their fingers. The rest of the group had stopped in front of a large display window and were admiring the outfits displayed on the faceless mannequins. Atobe was pointing out the different designers' works, commenting knowledgeably on the trends they were experimenting with. Sanada, Yukimura, and Yanagi stopped beside them. Atobe turned and caught sight of Sanada's hand, wrapped so protectively around Yukimura's. He felt a painful twisting in his gut and tore his gaze away. Sanada had noticed him watching, however, and did his best to fight the urge to drop Yukimura's hand, simply to prevent that pained look from crossing Atobe's face again.


	9. Chapter 9

Big thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. Here's the next one!

* * *

At seven thirty, Yukimura announced that he had to leave to rejoin his family. Sanada immediately offered to escort him home, but Yanagi suggested he do it instead, since he was also expected back, and that way, Sanada could stay with Atobe, who was, after all, his guest. Yukimura agreed with Yanagi, bid a quick goodbye to Sanada, and set off toward the train station. Sanada watched them go for a minute, before turning back to join the rest of the group. Jackal dragged Marui and Kirihara off after another fifteen minutes, leaving only Sanada, Atobe, Yagyuu, and Niou. The four of them headed into a coffee shop, where they sat at a secluded table in the back in order to avoid the millions of girls who seemed to exist only to beg for pictures and autographs.

"So, Atobe-_san,_" Niou began, dragging out the honorific, "just how old _are _you?" He eyed him with interest.

"Why should I tell _you_? We've kept it a secret for a reason."

"I would like to know," Sanada said, frowning. He had never really thought about it before now, but it was true that he had no idea how old Atobe was. He had always just assumed that they were the same age. It felt like it, in any case.

Atobe stared at him for a moment before shrugging.

"Well, I know it's difficult to believe, considering all of the things I've done, but in truth I'm only seventeen," Atobe said, sipping his latte. "I'll be eighteen on October 4th."

"I'll expect an invitation to the party," Niou drawled, grinning.

Atobe smirked.

"I suppose we'll see," he said flippantly.

"Do you write your own music, Atobe-san?" Yagyuu inquired.

Atobe raised an eyebrow. "Of course. I write the lyrics and compose the melody. Often times my band members will figure out the elaborations themselves."

"That's very impressive," Yagyuu said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "What instruments do you play?"

"Piano, guitar, bass, drums, and a bit of violin," Atobe replied, shrugging.

"And you're fluent in English, I presume?" Yagyuu continued.

Atobe nodded. "I can speak English, French, German, and Greek flawlessly," he said. "And quite a bit of Italian, Spanish, and various dialects of Chinese. Korean, too," he added. Niou and Yagyuu raised their eyebrows disbelievingly. Atobe simply lifted the corner of his mouth in a half-smirk and turned to Sanada. "You're very quiet this evening," he said, gazing at him intently. Sanada found himself shrinking back, suddenly intimidated by the piercing blue eyes. Niou chuckled, effectively breaking the spell.

"Sanada's _always_ quiet," he said, slinging an affectionate arm around the vice-captain, who stiffened uncomfortably, drawing forth another laugh from Niou. Atobe watched the proceedings with an interested expression.

Finally, Yagyuu cleared his throat and glanced down at his watch.

"It's getting rather late. I ought to be getting home," he announced, rising. "It was an honor to meet you, Atobe-san," he said, bowing low. Atobe nodded. Niou stood too, transferring his arm from Sanada's shoulders to Yagyuu's.

"I'll come with you, Hiroshi," he said. He raised two fingers, waving them lazily in Atobe's direction. "See y'around, Atobe-_san." _

Atobe rolled his eyes. The pair wandered off, and Sanada heard the jingling of the bell, signaling the opening and closing of the door, and Niou and Yagyuu's departure. Atobe leaned back in his chair and regarded Sanada through half-lidded eyes.

"You have an interesting team," he commented.

"They can be quite a handful," Sanada said, pushing at his coffee cup with his index finger.

"I like them," Atobe continued thoughtfully, ignoring Sanada's response. "Even the annoying one... Kirihara, I think."

Sanada couldn't resist a smile. "He has character," he agreed.

Atobe nodded. "I didn't know that you, Yukimura, and Yanagi were called the 'Three Demons,'" he said, and Sanada noted the amused tone in his voice with a frown. "That's a very intimidating title," Atobe mused, leaning forward and swirling the coffee grinds around in the bottom of his mug.

"It's hardly a title," Sanada muttered.

"What is it, then?" Atobe inquired, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "An affectionate term?"

Sanada sighed. "You are really quite impossible," he informed the pop star, who shrugged.

"I wrote a song," Atobe said, rather suddenly. "Do you want to hear it?"

"Here?" Sanada asked dubiously. Atobe sighed.

"Honestly, I may be impossible, but at least I'm not a complete _dunce,_" he said. "Of course not _here. _Back at the apartment."

"Now?"

"No, next month."

"But, you'll be gone-"

"Yes, now, you imbecile!" Atobe cried, rising and grabbing Sanada's arm, pulling him to his feet. "Does everything need to be spelled out in brightly-colored block letters for you? Honestly, I've met boulders that are more insightful than you."

Sanada sighed and allowed Atobe to pull him out of the cafe and onto the street, where he stopped, released Sanada's arm, and pulled out his phone. After a brief conversation with whom Sanada assumed was Oshitari, Atobe hung up.

"We'll be picked up in a few minutes."

"Okay," Sanada said, gazing up at the sky. Only a scattering of faded stars was visible.

"It's sort of sad, isn't it?" Atobe said softly, after a moment's silence. Sanada turned to him, his eyebrows raised questioningly. "The way something as bright and fiery and unearthly as a star can be drowned out by a couple million bedroom lights."

Sanada nodded slowly, wondering briefly if Atobe was alluding to something else, before deciding that it was highly unlikely. Atobe _had_ just pointed out how completely clueless he was.

"Ah, our ride is here," Atobe announced, shaking Sanada out of his thoughts. He climbed into the car after the silver-haired boy and suppressed a yawn as he settled into the comfortable leather seat.

"I should be going home," he muttered, glancing at his watch. It was eight forty-five.

"Don't be ridiculous," Atobe replied. "It's a Friday night."

"I have school tomorrow," Sanada contested. Atobe looked surprised.

"They really still do that here?" he asked. Sanada nodded. "Hmm," Atobe hummed. "In most other places, it's just five days a week."

"This isn't most other places," Sanada grumbled.

Atobe shrugged. "Well, I want you to skip school tomorrow and spend the day with me," he declared.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I can't just _skip school,_" Sanada replied, frowning. "I'd have to make up the work, and I have a responsibility to my team, even if there is no practice."

"Everyone deserves _one_ day to shirk their responsibilities and just have fun," Atobe said. "Tomorrow will be yours."

"No."

"Yes. I insist. If need be I'll have Oshitari put in a call and excuse your absence."

"That won't be necessary," Sanada said stonily, "because I won't be absent."

Atobe's eyes narrowed. "Don't be ridiculous, Sanada. If I say you're skipping school tomorrow, you'll damn well skip school tomorrow," he snapped. "How long will it take you to realize that what I say _goes_?"

"A good long time," Sanada replied, glaring out the window.

"Well, we don't _have _a long time, so hurry it up," Atobe huffed, crossing his arms.

Sanada leaned back farther in his seat. "You're giving me a headache," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Would you do us all a favor and just shut up?"

"Make me."

Sanada glanced over at Atobe, who was staring at him haughtily.

"No."

Atobe scowled and settled lower in his seat.

"To think, I wrote a song for someone like _you._"

Sanada's eyebrows shot up and he turned to regard Atobe disbelievingly. The pop star shot a lazy glance in his direction. Sanada opened his mouth to speak, but no words came to mind.

"For... me?" he finally sputtered.

"I decided that since you _were _the inspiration, I may as well do you the favor of dedicating it to you."

"Inspiration?"

Atobe shrugged.

"I was a bit shocked, too. I never imagined I'd write a song about someone so dull."

Their conversation was then interrupted by the driver, who announced in his timid voice that they had arrived. Atobe thanked him briefly before slipping out of the car and starting into the apartment building without waiting for Sanada, who scrambled to catch up. The elevator ride up to the top floor was long, silent, and awkward, and Sanada had never been more grateful to hear the soft ringing of the bell that indicated their arrival. Oshitari opened the door, his hair slightly ruffled and his glasses nowhere in sight. Atobe smirked at him and stepped into the apartment. The door nearly swung shut in Sanada's face, but he caught it in time and followed Atobe inside. Oshitari raised an eyebrow at him before shrugging and disappearing back down the hall, muttering something unintelligible.

"Come on, the music room is this way," Atobe said, waving his hand impatiently. Sanada quickly removed his shoes and followed the silver-haired youth through the winding maze of hallways. They finally arrived at a plain, white door, which Atobe shoved open with his shoulder, glancing back at Sanada simultaneously to ensure that he hadn't gotten lost on their way there. Inside, the walls were covered with a thick, styrofoam-like substance, which Sanada assumed served as noise insulation. Various guitars and basses were lined up along the wall, and drum sticks littered the floor, making a trail of sorts that lead to a full drum set. Atobe stood in the middle of the room for a moment, tapping his chin. Suddenly, he turned and started back toward the door. Sanada made a move to follow, but Atobe waved him back.

"You stay here," he ordered. "I need my band." He disappeared from the room, and Sanada felt free to heave a rather heavy sigh as he lowered himself onto a conveniently placed amplifier. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, letting the brim of his cap sink low over his eyes. His fingers were just grasping the edge of sleep when suddenly, the door swung open with a bang, making Sanada start and nearly topple off the amp. In came Mukahi and Shishido, both cursing rather profoundly. Hiyoshi followed silently, his hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatshirt. Akutagawa and Atobe entered last. Jiroh was stretching languidly, his eyes barely open.

Atobe licked his lips as he adjusted the microphone. The rest of his band members were retrieving their instruments, and the slight twang of strings echoed through the room as Shishido, Mukahi and Hiyoshi quickly synchronized. Jiroh did a quick drum roll, letting his sticks flit over the snare. Sanada watched the proceedings with interest.

"Are we doing 'Cross With You'?" Shishido asked, running his fingers over the frets. Atobe nodded. "Okay," he said. "Ready?"

"Yeah. Count it," Atobe said, closing his eyes.

Shishido began counting, his numbers quick and breathy and strung together. He reached four, and as he opened his mouth to repeat "one," his guitar came to life as his hand flew across the strings. His fingers slid up and down the frets, easily forming the power chords. Jiroh was drumming softly, his sticks brushing across the cymbals, when Atobe began singing, his voice low. Sanada's eyes were slowly, reluctantly drawn to him, and he watched, slipping easily into the same mesmerized state, as Atobe reached the chorus. Atobe's eyes suddenly snapped open, and Sanada found himself gazing straight into two ice-like orbs.

_"I'm cross with you."_

Atobe's eyes remained open as he began the second verse. Every note was flawless, every slight movement of his body unearthly. Sanada found himself leaning forward, wanting to be closer to the source of this incredible music. He watched, utterly entranced, as Atobe's thin lips brushed over the microphone. His slim fingers were wrapped firmly around the thick, black cylinder and Sanada shifted slightly as he felt an uncomfortable tightening in his pants. Atobe held a long note before pulling away from the microphone to breathe as Shishido ripped into a solo, his fingers flying. Mukahi picked up as Shishido faded away, easily strumming out the main harmony as Hiyoshi's baseline picked up the spotlight for a brief moment before Atobe began again.

_"Nani ga ore o konna ni atsuku saseru?_

_Yoseru nami no chouten e nobotte yuku..."_

Sanada rested his chin in his hands and brought his knees closer together.

Jiroh cut his drums and as Atobe breathed the last line of the song, Shishido did a quick slide, bringing the music to a close.

"Well, what did you think?" Atobe asked, leaning on the mic stand.

Sanada cleared his throat. "It was.. Good."

Atobe raised an eyebrow. "_Good?_" he repeated.

Sanada nodded once, before shaking his head. "Well..."

"Did you _like _it?" Atobe snapped.

"Yes," Sanada said. "I'm thinking about the lyrics. There's something about the way you write and the music that's... strange."

Strange? _What the hell am I talking about? _Sanada scowled at the floor, frustrated.

"My, my, you're so articulate," Atobe drawled. "But I suppose I understand what you're trying to say."

"It's not like this is Atobe's real style," Shishido muttered, slipping his guitar back onto its stand.

"What do you mean?" Sanada asked, glancing at the blue-capped boy with a confused expression.

Shishido shrugged. "When Atobe writes music he doesn't plan on releasing, it doesn't sound as... I dunno, pop-ish."

"I want to hear some," Sanada said, turning to Atobe.

"No," Atobe said, moving toward the door. "Now, come along, we need to discuss our plans for tomorrow."

--

Yukimura sighed and collapsed onto his bed.

"Atobe Keigo," he murmured, tracing the name on his bedspread.

The boy was undoubtedly talented. His voice was beautiful, and his stage presence exquisite. But there was something about him that bothered Yukimura.

"But _what_?"

He sighed and closed his eyes and remembered the way Sanada had watched Atobe, so carefully, while he was singing, and the way he had felt Sanada's grip on his hand loosen when Atobe had caught sight of their intertwined fingers. The way Sanada had looked so at ease, standing with Atobe outside the school gates. The way Sanada had lied to him, more than once, about where he had been. The way Sanada's offer to escort him home had seemed so forced. As if the other boy felt obligated.

Since when was he an _obligation_ to Sanada?

Since Atobe had pushed himself into their lives. The world famous pop star. Handsome, talented, proud, mysterious.

"Am I jealous?" Yukimura muttered. He thought for a second, before shaking his head, smiling slightly. "Ridiculous."

He sat up and reached for his pajamas.

He couldn't remember a time when Sanada had been anything but loyal to him. There was no way that an egotistical pop star named Atobe Keigo was going to change that.


	10. Chapter 10

Hey! Thanks for your reviews, they are much appreciated! :)

* * *

Sanada perched awkwardly on the edge of Atobe's bed as the silver-haired pop star ordered Oshitari to telephone Rikkaidai and excuse Sanada's absence for tomorrow. When Atobe returned, he flopped onto the bed beside Sanada and stared absently at the ceiling in silence.

Sanada tugged at his collar and cleared his throat. "Have you really read all of those books?"

"Of course," Atobe scoffed.

"Why do you have an apartment here if you're traveling?"

"Because I like it here," Atobe said, drawing circles in the air with a slender finger.

"Oh. What do you want to do tomorrow?"

Atobe sat up and shrugged.

"Something exciting," he said, reaching for Sanada's hat. "Why do you wear this? It's hideous."

Sanada scowled. "It keeps my hair out of my eyes," he said stiffly, attempting to retrieve the cap from Atobe's grasp. The silver-haired boy held it just out of reach, dangling it between his fingers.

"Trim your bangs," Atobe suggested, gazing disdainfully at the hat. "This is simply horrific."

"I like it," Sanada argued, making another attempt to reclaim it. Atobe tossed it into his other hand.

"Do you _wash _it?" he inquired.

"When necessary," Sanada said, his frown deepening. "Now give it back."

"No," Atobe replied. "You look better without it."

Sanada felt his cheeks flush and prayed furiously that they weren't visibly red. Atobe didn't seem to notice anything, luckily.

"Don't be ridiculous. Who cares what I look like. Practicality is far more important than appearance," Sanada grumbled.

"Untrue," Atobe countered, tossing the hat onto his desk. "You can deny it all you want, but people _do_ judge you on how you present yourself."

"Well, I present myself practically," Sanada said, "and it seems to have worked so far. Besides, I couldn't care less what other people think of me."

"I bet you care about what _Yukimura _thinks," Atobe teased, smirking.

Sanada blushed again. "That's different," he muttered, rising and snatching his hat off the desk, pulling it snugly over his head. "I should go home."

Now it was Atobe's turn to frown.

"Don't forget about your promise. You have to spend tomorrow with me."

"Okay," Sanada agreed, starting toward the door. Atobe slipped off the bed and stepped in front of him.

"Promise me again," he ordered.

"I promise," Sanada said, suppressing a sigh.

Atobe nodded. "Good. I'll pick you up tomorrow at... What time does your school start?"

"Seven," Sanada replied.

"Six forty-five, then."

Atobe pushed open the door and watched Sanada stride into the hall.

"Sanada," he called. The black-haired boy glanced over his shoulder back at him. "You're going the wrong way."

--

When Atobe arrived at Sanada's house the next morning, he was surprised to find the dark-haired boy already outside, leaning against a lamppost. He was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, his cap pulled low over his eyes. He didn't look up until Atobe stepped out of the car and strode over to him.

"Good morning, Sanada," he drawled, gazing around. "Do you really live here? It's so... quaint."

"My family owns a dojo," Sanada explained, standing up straight. "We're very traditional."

"Ah," Atobe replied, nodding slightly. He glanced back at Sanada, and frowned slightly. Reaching forward, he grabbed the taller boy's chin and tilted his head sideways. Sanada's cheek was marred by the shadow of a bruise. Squinting slightly, Atobe realized that the mark resembled a hand. "What happened?" he demanded, glaring inquisitively into Sanada's eyes.

"Nothing," Sanada replied, pulling away. Atobe stepped forward again, pressing two fingers to the bruise. Sanada flinched.

"Nothing?" Atobe repeated, raising his eyebrows.

"I fell."

"You fell."

Sanada nodded. Atobe rolled his eyes.

"I'm not stupid, Sanada."

"I was late coming home," Sanada admitted, after a moment's pause. Atobe's eyes widened slightly.

"And so..."

"Yeah," Sanada interrupted. "It's routine. Disciplinary. _Practical,"_ he continued, emphasizing the last word. Atobe did not reply, but he didn't argue, either. Instead, he simply opened the door and slipped into the car. Sanada waited by his open door, but the pop star made no move to slide over. Heaving a long sigh, Sanada rounded the car and climbed in the other door, strapping the seatbelt across his chest.

"Well, where to?" Atobe asked.

"I don't know," Sanada said. He sounded tired. "Did you call the school?"

"Yes. Oshitari is taking care of it." Atobe leaned forward to address the driver. "To the nearest park. This is a particularly beautiful morning. I feel like taking a stroll."

"Of course," the driver replied, turning the key in the ignition. The engine hummed to life, and Sanada let his forehead press against the cool glass pane of the window. A walk in the park sounded nice. Simple.

He missed simplicity.

Ever since Atobe had forced himself into his life, everything had been so complicated. He thought about the pop star the way he _should_ be thinking about Yukimura. He kept secrets from his family and friends. Even tennis wasn't the same.

Atobe's warm hand on his shoulder was Sanada's only indication that he had groaned aloud. Sanada glanced over at the silver-haired boy, surprised at the kind gesture, only to find that Atobe wasn't even looking at him. His blueish eyes stared absently out the window, gazing detachedly at the cherry trees flashing by.

"Atobe?" Sanada muttered questioningly. The warmth radiating from Atobe's hand was spreading through his body, seeping comfortably into his chest.

"Shut up," Atobe ordered, but he didn't move his hand. "Unless you have something you need to say," he added, as an afterthought, turning to meet Sanada's gaze. He slowly pulled his hand away, bringing it to rest in his lap. Sanada swallowed. Atobe's words made him feel like he _should_ have something to say... Did he?

Probably. There was so much going through his mind. But he couldn't even understand it, never mind explain it to someone else. So he remained silent, letting his gaze drift back out the window. They were silent for the next twenty minutes, until the driver pulled up beside a tall, black gate.

"Will this do, Atobe-sama?"

Atobe glanced out the window at the park stretching before them.

"Yes, perfect," he replied. "You may go for now. I'll telephone you this evening when I need you."

"Thank you, Atobe-sama," the driver said, inclining his head in a grateful bow. Atobe nodded and unbuckled, opening his door.

"Come along, Sanada."

They entered the park, walking side by side in amongst the flora. Fallen cherry blossoms lined the paved walkway, ground into the cement by the heels of thousands of amblers. Every now and then, another petal would break off and drift slowly to the ground. Atobe extended a hand and watched as a blossom fluttered toward his palm. He closed his fist around the smooth, pink petal for a moment before releasing it, letting it continue its journey to the ground.

"I don't get to see the blossoms very often," Atobe said softly, stopping beneath a tree. "It's a shame, really. They're one of the few things actually worth seeing." He turned to Sanada. "You'd be surprised by the number of famous sites that just aren't worth it." He chuckled. "Not that anyone will admit it."

Sanada shrugged. "Maybe it depends on who you're seeing it with," he said.

Atobe raised his eyebrows. "That was a rare moment of insight," he said. "Would you like me to have it documented?" Sanada scowled, and Atobe laughed again. "Well, let's keep walking."

They strolled through the park for about an hour, stopping every now and then to admire particularly stunning sights. Finally, they reached one of the many exits, and pushed through the iron gates. They found themselves on a narrow, deserted alleyway, littered with trash.

Atobe wrinkled his nose in distaste. "How is it that a park so lovely is bordered by such a foul street?" he remarked, looking around.

"The main avenue is this way," Sanada said, stepping left. Atobe followed. "Come to think of it, won't you be recognized?" Sanada asked, remembering all of the excited girls they'd had to avoid yesterday. Atobe shrugged.

"Probably," he replied.

Sanada frowned. "I don't need my social life advertised to the whole of Japan," he said.

"We'll just avoid the cameras, then," Atobe replied flippantly. "Although, really, you should be honored to have the chance to be photographed with someone as beautiful as myself."

"Oh, I am," Sanada said dryly.

They stepped out onto the main street. People pushed past them, talking excitedly on their cell phones. Young men and women wandered in and out of shops, sipping drinks as they considered their next destination. Atobe gazed around the street thoughtfully, before suddenly darting into the crowd of pedestrians. Sanada scrambled after him, muttering apologies as he pushed past various well-dressed businessmen in pursuit of Atobe. He could see flashes of the pop star's silver hair in the late morning sunlight. Finally, they reached a crosswalk, and Atobe was forced to stop, allowing Sanada a chance to catch up.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, grabbing Atobe by the shoulder so that he couldn't escape again.

"Department store," Atobe replied, gesturing toward a tall building. Sanada raised his eyebrows.

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"To shop?"

"I'm impressed."

"What could someone like you possibly need from a Tokyo department store?"

"We're not shopping for _me;_ my sense of fashion is flawless. Yours, however..."

Sanada raised his hands in protest.

"I don't want clothes," he said, frowning. "I have a school uniform and plenty of sweats for tennis. That's all I need."

"That's what _you_ think," Atobe replied, smirking.

"Atobe. I refuse."

"You can't refuse. I'm Atobe Keigo. Nobody says 'No' to me."

"I just did. And have before."

"Yes, but have you noticed that I always get my way in the end?"

Sanada remained silent. Atobe's smirk widened.

"You see? Resistance is futile, Sanada. Now, don't dawdle so much this time. Honestly, you are so slow."

Sanada resisted the urge to punch Atobe in the face and obediently followed him across the street, cursing him rather profoundly under his breath.

* * *

Aahh, the infamous "Your hat is hideous!" scene. Every lengthy SanaAto fic has to have one, right? :)

I'm hopefully going to be updating more often now, because with school starting in less than a month (eek!) I would like to get the majority of this story posted before my schedule crams up again. Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

Hello, all. Sorry, I said I was going to start updating at a quicker pace and now here I am putting this chapter up late. In any case, school is just around the corner, and the ending of this story is just killing me. So if updates start to slow, bear with me. I'll do my best to keep updating as regularly as possible. Thanks to all that reviewed last time!

* * *

After briefly consulting the floor map, Atobe announced that they would begin on the fourteenth floor, because Italian designers were always reliable. He insisted on taking the escalator up, however, because he wanted to give each floor a look-over in case something caught his eye.

The first five levels were deemed 'horrendous' and 'insulting.' The sixth 'acceptable.' On the seventh, Atobe demanded that they investigate several racks by a Russian designer he had met once at a fashion show in Paris. As they rounded the corner, a woman came flying at them, her phone out, charm jingling as she screeched to a halt before Atobe.

"Atobe-sama!" she shrieked, "You've got to be kidding me! I _thought_ it was you on the escalator, but... Would you mind if I took a picture with you? I'm a huge fan, I was at your concert the other night! I really can't believe this is happening!"

"Of course," Atobe said, flashing the woman a pearly-white smile. "Sanada, will you do the honors?"

Scowling, Sanada grabbed the woman's phone and snapped a quick picture.

"Thank you so much!" she cried. "My friends are never going to believe this! I'm terribly sorry for interrupting your day, but I can't thank you enough! Wow!"

"It's no problem," Atobe assured her, before quickly looping his arm through Sanada's and pulling the taller boy back toward the escalators.

"Do you take pictures with anyone that asks?" Sanada asked.

"Of course not," Atobe replied, stepping onto the escalator. Sanada took the step behind his. "But she looked like she'd have gone a bit crazy if I'd said 'No.'"

"I suppose so."

They stepped off onto the floor.

"It's this way," Atobe said, starting off through the racks of cream-colored shirts and dark slacks.

"Are these made of _leather_?" Sanada asked incredulously, holding up a pair of mauve pants.

"Probably," Atobe called over his shoulder. "But I'm not quite sure if that's your thing."

"No- I didn't _want _them," Sanada spluttered, shoving them back onto the rack.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Sanada."

"Atobe."

The pop star smirked and disappeared behind a tall, oak shelf housing hundreds of pairs of expensive-looking jeans. Sanada started after him when a long, high-pitched shriek echoed through the store and Atobe suddenly reappeared. His eyes were wide and he looked shocked.

"Atobe, was that _you _screaming?" Sanada demanded, peering around the shelf. A young girl in pigtails stared back, her hands resting on her hips. She was dressed in a school uniform, and the bandana tied around her neck had 'Osaka' printed on it in thick white calligraphy. Behind her, a group of at least twenty schoolgirls chattered excitedly, pointing to there spot where Atobe had stood moments before.

"Oh," Sanada muttered, "shit."

Someone grabbed his arm from behind and jerked him backward. Twisting himself around, he caught a brief glimpse of the back of Atobe's head before it disappeared into a rack of dress shirts.

"Atobe," Sanada hissed, pulling apart the shirts and staring down at the pop star in disbelief, "what the hell are you doing?"

"Did you see them?" Atobe demanded, gesturing behind Sanada. "I don't want to deal with that right now. We have to get out of here!"

"Well, get out of the shirt rack and let's go get the elevator."

"Fine."

Atobe scrambled out from between the shirts and the pair made a mad dash for the elevator. As the door slid shut, Sanada caught a brief glimpse of the schoolgirls scrambling between the racks of clothes. Shuddering slightly, he slammed his thumb onto the first-floor button.

"I thought you said there was school today, Sanada," Atobe said, leaning back against the glass wall of the lift.

"There is," Sanada replied. "They were from Osaka. It said so on their uniforms."

"On a school trip, then?" Atobe asked.

"Evidently."

A bell sounded and the doors opened. To Sanada's relief, the girls had not taken the stairs. They quickly made their way to the front doors, and Sanada was about to comment on their luck when a camera flashed.

"Atobe-san, look this way!"

"Atobe-san, how are you finding Tokyo?"

"Atobe-san, would you mind giving a name to your escort?"

Men and women armed with microphones and large cameras pushed at each other as they shouted their questions, trying to get a close as possible to the pop star.

"Atobe," Sanada growled, "I told you I have no interest in being on the cover of tomorrow's tabloids."

"I'm afraid it might be too late," Atobe said. "Unless you want to run for it."

"If it will save my reputation."

"Well then, you lead."

Without a second thought, Sanada grabbed Atobe's wrist and started running. He pushed through the crowd of reporters, muttering brief apologies and doing his best to avoid the cameras. Once they broke free of the mob, he made a sharp left and pulled them onto a side street. He released Atobe's wrist and leaned against the wall, frowning. Atobe smirked.

"Oh, there's no way those pictures aren't going to be all over the city tomorrow," he said smugly. "And since it is _me_ we're talking about, I wouldn't be surprised if they appear in American and European tabloids as well."

"You will do everything in your power to ensure that does not happen," Sanada ordered.

"We'll see," Atobe replied, grinning. "If you manage to keep me entertained for the rest of the day, I'll see what strings I can pull."

"Fine. What do you want to do, then, your highness?"

"Oh my, was that _sarcasm? _Out of _your_ mouth? The world must be ending. Next thing I know, you'll be attempting slapstick."

"You never know," Sanada said dryly. "I'm full of surprises."

"Obviously."

"So, what do you want to do?"

Atobe paused for a moment, tapping his chin softly with a slender finger.

"I want to go swimming," he said.

"Swimming?" Sanada repeated dubiously. "But it's cold."

"Have you never heard of an indoor pool?"

"I've no idea where one is."

"Oh, I have one," Atobe replied flippantly. "I'll telephone my driver. And then this evening, I want to cook dinner again."

"Do you have food?"

"You haven't heard of a grocery store, either, then?"

"I assumed that groceries were below you."

"They are. I'll send Shishido for some. Ootori will be around tonight so he'll do anything to make himself look good."

"Why?"

Atobe laughed. "You really are quite dense," he said, chuckling. "Because he _likes_ him. Not that he'll ever admit it to Ootori's face."

"Oh."

"Mm," Atobe hummed, pressing a button on his phone. "Hello? Yes. No, just for now. My gym. Excellent. Goodbye. He'll be here in ten or fifteen minutes," Atobe announced, glancing over at Sanada, who nodded curtly.

"What should we cook tonight?" Atobe asked.

Sanada shrugged.

"Well, I suppose we can decide later." Atobe gave Sanada a quick once-over before breaking into a wide smirk. "And I've decided that you'll be staying the night."

"You can't just _decide_ these things, Atobe," Sanada said, rolling his eyes.

"Yes I can," Atobe replied, still smirking. "Will you need to stop by your house to pick up your things?"

"I haven't agreed yet," Sanada argued.

"You don't have a choice," Atobe replied simply. Sanada was about to press the issue further when Oshitari's words suddenly rang through his ears.

_"Stop playing tennis with Atobe and show him what it's like to be a normal teenager, because at the moment, he is living in a fairy tale and one day or another he is going to have to face reality. I would rather him do it with you than on his own."_

"Fine," he heard himself agree. "I'll sleep over." Atobe gazed at him strangely for a moment before shrugging and turning away.

"Good," he said.

They stood in silence until the driver arrived. Atobe stepped into the car first, and Sanada followed. At first, neither spoke, and Sanada found himself wondering if he'd said something wrong and managed to piss Atobe off. His question was answered when Atobe suddenly turned to him and asked,

"Do you pity me?"

"Pity you?"

"Yes."

"Why would I?"

"Because Oshitari lectured you on my misfortunes."

"He didn't."

"He did," Atobe replied, "I can tell. He told you how my career has made it difficult for me to make close friends and how my childhood was sub par."

"Sub par?"

"Do you honestly not know what that means?"

"Of course I do. And in any case, I don't pity you. In fact, I quite dislike you."

"Really," Atobe said, smirking. "That's why you always agree to everything I ask you to do."

"You've said yourself it's impossible to deny you anything."

"You could try harder."

"It would be a waste of time."

"So I'm a waste of time?"

"If you want to look at it like that."

"Whatever," Atobe replied, waving his hand dismissively. "But back there, when I told you to stay the night, you remembered something Oshitari told you. I know you did."

Sanada did not respond, but found it quite frightening that Atobe could read into him so easily.

"Atobe-san, we've arrived," the driver announced, pulling into the parking lot. Sanada glanced out the window and immediately recognized Atobe's apartment building.

"Your gym is in your apartment?" he asked incredulously.

"Top floor," Atobe said, shrugging. "Come on." He stepped out of the car. Sanada followed. Atobe showed him to an elevator in the back of the building. On the way up, he explained that his second uncle owned the entire building and had given him the apartment after his first CD went platinum.

"He's the only member of my family that speaks to me," he admitted.

"I thought you said you didn't want me to pity you," Sanada said, crossing his arms and leaning against the elevator wall. Atobe chuckled.

"My my, aren't you cheeky," he drawled. It looked as if he was going to continue but the ringing of Sanada's phone cut him off.

"Hello? Ah, Seiichi. Yes, everything is alright. No, I'm fine." Sanada sighed and glanced over at Atobe. "It's a long story," he said. "I'm afraid not, I won't be home for long tonight. Of course. No, I should think you know me well enough to understand that I would never miss practice. I knew there wasn't any today. Seiichi, please. Nothing is wrong with me, and nothing has been! You are making a mountain out of a mole hill. What?" Sanada's voice suddenly grew very soft and Atobe stepped closer, hoping to catch a snippet of the conversation.

"What's going on?" he whispered. Sanada shot him an strange look and turned away.

"Seiichi, I... I don't understand why you're doing this. Everything was... _Is_ fine. Please, calm down. Seiichi!" There was a long silence. Finally, Sanada slowly snapped his phone shut and slipped it into his pocket.

"What happened?" Atobe asked quietly.

"Nothing," Sanada said, looking away.

Atobe simply nodded and decided not to press the issue. He had never seen this sort of expression on Sanada's face before. He looked hurt, lost, confused, and angry, as if someone had confessed their love to him and then punched him in the gut.

The elevator beeped and the doors slid open, revealing a tiled pool deck and a large, 50 meter pool. The water glistened in the sunlight, lapping gently at the walls. Atobe stepped onto the deck and Sanada followed. They set their bags down and Atobe showed Sanada to the locker room, where a pair of swimsuits had been laid out beside two thick white towels. Atobe grabbed the trunks he recognized at his own and gently pushed Sanada toward the changing room before hurrying around the corner to change into his suit. As he pulled his shirt over his head, Sanada's pained expression flashed before his eyes. Cringing, he quickly stepped into his trunks and pulled them up around his waist. He knew it whatever had just happened was most likely his own fault. Indirectly, perhaps, but the weight doubtlessly rested on his shoulders. He was coming between Sanada and Yukimura. Intentionally. He had fallen for Sanada so hard that he couldn't bear to think about the stoic boy's relationship with Yukimura, so he did his best to keep them apart. He knew that he was confusing Sanada. And he knew that Sanada truly believed that he was in love with his captain. And for all Atobe knew, he was. But that wouldn't stop him from trying. He wanted Sanada. _Needed_ him.

"Atobe, I'm going." The pop star looked up to see Sanada staring down at him. His towel was slung over his shoulder, his broad chest uncovered. Atobe felt his cheeks grow warm and nodded, looking down to hide his blush.

"I'll be right out," he muttered, reaching for his towel. "I'm just going to take a quick shower."

"Should I?"

"Only if you want. It makes the pool feel warmer to me."

"Oh. I'm going ahead, then."

Sanada disappeared and Atobe stumbled into the shower room, his heart beating rapidly against his chest. He turned the cold tap on full blast and stepped under the stream of water, sighing softly as the cool water soothed his burning skin. After a minute or so, he flipped the tap off and slung his towel around his neck. Taking a long, deep breath, he sauntered out onto the pool deck.

Sanada was swimming laps, his strong arms propelling him easily through the water. Dropping his towel onto a bench, Atobe moved to the side of the pool and watched Sanada for a moment before diving in. He let himself trail through the water until he began to lift toward the surface. Twisting himself around, he sucked in a long breath as his face broke the surface of the water. He lay there, floating on his back, staring emptily at the ceiling. Water lapped against his cheeks as Sanada swam past. Atobe waited until the taller boy had completed three more laps before letting his feet touch the bottom. Sanada stopped at the wall and Atobe called his name. Sanada obligingly swam over to where the pop star stood and waited for him to continue.

"Sanada," Atobe repeated. There was a long pause, before he finally continued. "What's wrong?" He took a step closer to the dark-haired boy and started slightly when he realized that his eyes were rimmed with red. "Are you crying?" he whispered.

"Of course not," Sanada replied, reaching up to rub at one of his eyes. "It's the chlorine."

"Sanada."

Atobe reached out and wrapped his fingers around Sanada's wrist.

"Why do you care?" Sanada mumbled, staring down into the blue water.

"Why wouldn't I?" Atobe demanded, stepping closer.

"Because you don't even know me. I'm just your plaything. I serve to keep you occupied because apparently you have nothing better to do. We mean nothing to each other. We're not friends. We don't even care enough to be enemies."

Atobe felt a stabbing pain in his chest. Closing his eyes, he released Sanada's wrist and reached up, resting both hands on the taller boy's chest.

"How can you say that?" he murmured. He could feel Sanada's heart beating beneath his fingers. "You're right. I don't know you. But Sanada... You're the only person I've ever met that _gets_ me. The fact that I'm a world-famous pop star doesn't impress you at all. You're willing to meet me head on in an argument, not bow your head and let me have my way." His eyes snapped open and he gazed solemnly up into Sanada's dark irises. "Sanada... You mean everything to me."

"Atobe-"

The silver-haired boy shook his head. "Genichiroh," he whispered, leaning forward. "I love you."

Their lips met when Atobe pushed off of the bottom of the pool, pressing himself tightly against Sanada's chest, his hands coming up to weave their way into Sanada's thick black hair. They stood there for a long moment, locked in a one-sided embrace. Throughout the kiss, Sanada made no move to respond. He simply stood stock still, his hands locked at his side. Finally Atobe pulled away.

"Sanada," he mumbled. He could feel tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.

"I have to go," Sanada said. His voice shook slightly. He stepped past Atobe, the water swirling around his waist. He pulled himself out of the pool in one fluid movement. Grabbing his towel, he disappeared into the locker room and reemerged moments later. His clothes were askew, his hair still dripping in his eyes. Atobe watched him from the water in silence as he pressed the elevator button. The bell sounded and the doors slid open, and without another word, Sanada stepped inside. The doors closed behind him and with a slight whir of cables, he was gone.

With a sigh, Atobe slowly lowered himself into the water and pushed off, letting himself float on his back.

_"Genichiroh... I love you."_

What an idiot he was. To think that Sanada would have any interest in him.

_"We mean nothing to each other."_

"Atobe!"

With a start, Atobe stood, spluttering as water slipped into his mouth. He shook his hair out of his eyes and stared up at the tall man before him.

"Would you care to explain to me why the _hell_ Sanada just said, 'Nice meeting you' and ran out?" Oshitari shouted.

Atobe didn't answer.

"Atobe!"

Atobe didn't expect the tears. In fact, he hardly noticed them until one slid into his mouth, bitter against his tongue. As the salty taste slid down his throat, he felt it tighten, and suddenly, he was sobbing, choking in breaths. There was a splash and he felt arms wrap around him. Hair brushed against his cheek as Oshitari murmured things in his ear, gently wiping the tears away. They stood there for a long time; Atobe crying, Oshitari condoling with him. Finally, the adrenaline of the event began to wear off and Atobe started shivering, at which point Oshitari lifted him into his arms and carried him out of the pool. Wrapping a towel around his shoulders, he lead Atobe to the elevator. They descended in silence, broken only by soft hiccups from the silver-haired boy. When they reached the apartment, Oshitari gently pushed Atobe toward his room, telling him to put on dry clothes and wait there. Once he was sure Atobe was following his directions, he hurried into the kitchen. Shishido hurried in as Oshitari was putting the kettle on. He looked worried.

"Oshitari, what's going on? Ootori said he saw Sanada coming down the hall as he was coming up. He said he looked really upset!"

"I don't know what happened," Oshitari replied, pouring the hot water into a mug. "I found Atobe in the pool, sobbing. It must have been bad."

"I _knew_ that Sanada guy was an asshole," Shishido hissed. "I swear, if I ever see him, I'm going to kick his ass!"

Oshitari grimaced. "We don't know what happened, so don't blame anyone until we find out."

"If he made Atobe cry, it's gotta be bad," Shishido said.

"He seemed to really care about Atobe when I spoke with him," Ootori said from where he stood in the doorway.

"I'll go see what I can find out," Oshitari said, dropping two sugar cubes into the tea he had prepared and hurrying out of the kitchen. Shishido sighed and dropped into a chair. Ootori took a seat next to him.

"Wow, Shishido-san," he said, smiling slightly. "You really care about Atobe, don't you?"

Shishido glanced up at him and shrugged, blushing slightly.

"Well, I mean, without him, I wouldn't have any of this," he said, waving his hand around. "I kind of owe my life to him, y'know?"

Ootori nodded. "Nobody at the hospital thought I would go anywhere," he admitted. "They all thought I was too timid, too hesitant to make as a doctor. But after I had the good fortune to give you stitches, Atobe called the hospital and told them he wanted me to be his private physician." He laughed softly. "I never thought I'd say this, but thanks for tripping over that toolbox, Shishido-san!" Shishido grinned.

"Anytime," he said, running a finger over the scar on his forehead. Ootori smiled at him before sighing and staring at the doorway Oshitari had hurried through not too long ago.

"I hope Atobe's alright."


	12. Chapter 12

Hi all. Sorry for the belated update.. The end of summer vacation is always surprisingly hectic. Thanks for all of your lovely reviews!

* * *

Sanada came to school on Monday with dark circles under his eyes. He spoke to no one and sat through his classes with a stiff back, his mouth set in a grim line. He disappeared at lunch time, and no matter how hard they looked, the tennis team failed to find him. Yukimura looked particularly worried, and forwent his food in favor of searching for Sanada, who reappeared just as the bell signaled the end of the lunch period. When he saw Yukimura, he looked away and walked past him. Frowning slightly, Yukimura watched Sanada disappear into his classroom before sighing and starting toward his own.

"What happened, Seiichi?"

Yukimura stopped and turned to face Yanagi, who was staring at him with open eyes.

"I... I think I might have overreacted."

"What do you mean?"

"When Sanada didn't come to school on Saturday, I thought something was really wrong. I worried about him all through classes and called him the first moment I could. He answered and assured me that he was fine. I was relieved at first, but then I heard Atobe's voice in the background, and I lost it. I started shouting at him, telling him he was shirking his responsibilities to the team, even though there had been no practice that day. Finally, I told him that I couldn't believe he had been going behind my back like this, and that I'd severely misjudged him. I called him a liar and broke up with him. Then I hung up." Yukimura sighed and leaned against a locker, running a hand through his hair. Yanagi stood beside him, obviously deep in thought.

"Genichiroh likes Atobe, doesn't he?" he mused. Yukimura nodded. "I mean, _likes_ him." Yukimura nodded again. Suddenly Yanagi turned to him. "Do you think he ever really liked you?"

Yukimura was silent for a long moment. Yanagi watched him carefully.

"Probably not," Yukimura finally admitted.

"I agree," Yanagi said, nodding firmly. "He respects you. He idolizes you. In his eyes, you're too perfect to be human. Whereas with Atobe..."

"He loves him," Yukimura said, and Yanagi could hear a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "You can see it in his face."

--

"Damn, what is _up_ with Atobe?" Mukahi asked, flinging the fridge open. "I haven't seen him in _days._"

"He hasn't come out of his room since Sanada walked out," Oshitari said. "I'm worried about him."

"He really liked that guy, didn't he?" Mukahi said, sliding into a chair. Oshitari nodded. "I'm surprised he let him walk out like that," Mukahi continued, reaching for an apple. "That's very... I dunno, un-Atobe."

"I didn't chase after him because it was a lost cause from the beginning."

"Atobe!"

The pop star smirked and brushed his bangs out of his eyes.

"I've finished moping," he announced. "Now, go pack. The plane is scheduled to leave at six."

"Plane? Atobe, what are you talking about?" Oshitari demanded.

"To London, of course. I figured leaving a couple of days early wouldn't hurt anyone."

"Atobe, running away from this isn't going to solve anything."

"I'm not running away from anything," Atobe replied. "I just want to get a head start in London."

Oshitari stared at him for a long moment. Atobe felt his gut twist and he turned away.

"Be ready to leave by five thirty," he ordered, before disappearing.

"Wow," Mukahi breathed. "That was a complete turnaround."

"He is being an idiot," Oshitari said softly. "He is in love with Sanada. He can't just leave things like this."

Mukahi shrugged. "Who cares?" he said offhandedly. "I mean, it's his business and stuff. Like, whatever. He knows what he's doing. He wouldn't have gotten this far if he didn't, right?"

"I'm not sure," Oshitari said, sighing. He pushed his chair back and rose slowly. "I suppose we should pack."

--

Yukimura dropped his backpack on the floor of his room and set his cellphone on his desk. With a long sigh, he collapsed into his desk chair and lifted his face to stare at the ceiling.

"What is going on?" he muttered, blowing a stray strand of hair out of his eyes.

Suddenly, his cellphone vibrated. The screen indicated a new voicemail. Frowning, Yukimura picked up his phone and clicked through his missed calls list. An unknown number had called during school hours, when his phone had been off. It always took his phone a while to alert him of new voice messages. Clicking the call key, Yukimura pressed his phone to his ear and leaned back in his chair as the message began.

_"Yukimura-kun, this is Atobe. I'm calling on Sanada's behalf. I'm leaving in just a few hours and figured this whole ordeal needed to be straightened out. Listen. Before you go and do something stupid and hurt Sanada, everything that happened on Saturday was my fault. I pulled him out of school, I kissed him. He didn't ask for any of it, and never did you any real disloyalty. So go tell him you forgive him and make him happy again. But if you do anything to hurt him, I will take personal revenge. Have a nice life."_

The message clicked off and the automated voice began droning on about the various mailbox options. Yukimura smiled slightly and hung up.

_If you do anything to hurt him, I will take personal revenge._

Perhaps he had been wrong about Atobe Keigo.

Yukimura stood up and grabbed his phone. Quickly dialing a number, he pressed the cellphone to his ear as he hurried down the steps. Tossing a jacket over his shoulders, he ran out of his house.

"Come on Genichiroh, pick up, pick up..."

The message tone began to play. Cursing softly, Yukimura hung up and quickly dialed Sanada's home phone number.

"Hello?"

It was Sanada's mother.

"Ah, Sanada-san, this is Yukimura Seiichi."

"Oh, how nice to hear from you, Yukimura-kun!"

"The pleasure is all mine, Sanada-san. It's been a while. Is Genichiroh there?"

"He is. Let me see if he's available."

Yukimura heard her call Sanada's name. Several doors opened and closed before she finally came back on the line.

"He says-"

"Can you tell him it's an emergency?" Yukimura interrupted. He was halfway to Sanada's house and didn't want to have to wait around. There were more muffled voices.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Genichiroh. Listen. I'm almost to your house. Meet me outside in five minutes. Bring your cellphone. Don't make me wait!" With that, he hung up.

When he reached Sanada's house, the black-haired boy was outside, leaning against a lamp post. His hat was pulled low over his eyes and he stood with his arms crossed defensively across his chest. Yukimura slowed at the sight of him, his breath catching in his throat. As Sanada lifted his face to look at him, Yukimura remembered exactly how much he loved the tall, dark-haired boy. His strong, broad figure, stern face, purposeful way of moving... He stepped forward, and Sanada pushed himself upright.

"Genichiroh, I..."

Was he really going to push Sanada away?

"I..."

And into the arms of who? Atobe Keigo?

_If you do anything to hurt him..._

Atobe was trustworthy... Wasn't he?

"I decided that seconds ago," Yukimura muttered.

Sanada frowned. "Do you have something to say?"

Yukimura started and looked up into Sanada's eyes.

"I'm..."

But _how_ could he trust Atobe? From one phone message? Was he really going to let Sanada Genichiroh's fate be determined by 30 seconds of speech?

"I'm sorry," Yukimura blurted.

He couldn't. He couldn't turn his back on Sanada. Atobe was world famous. Sanada wasn't. He would doubtless have his heart broken by the silver-haired boy. And Yukimura couldn't stand to let that happen.

"For what?" Sanada asked, jolting Yukimura out of his thoughts.

"For everything. I love you, Genichiroh."

That was it, Yukimura realized. If he could somehow persuade Sanada it wasn't Atobe he loved, but himself, he could save him all the pain and suffering of a broken heart. Then, they could be happy together, the way it was supposed to be from the beginning. He took a deep breath.

"These past days I've been feeling strangely jealous of Atobe, for some crazy reason." He forced a laugh. Sanada looked away. "And the other day, I completely overreacted. I didn't mean any of the things I said. I was angry and upset because I was afraid of losing you. I love you, Genichiroh, and I want everything to go back to the way it was. I was so happy, then. Can we try? Can we make everything the way it's supposed to be?"

Yukimura swallowed hard. Sanada was staring at the ground. His expression was unreadable. Finally, he looked up. Yukimura's breath caught and he took a step forward. Sanada flinched visibly, but he opened his mouth to speak nonetheless.

"I don't... Deserve you," he muttered.

"Genichiroh," Yukimura whispered, reaching up to cup Sanada's cheek. The taller boy pulled away from the touch.

"I kissed Atobe," Sanada said quietly. "I was disloyal to you."

Yukimura shook his head vigorously. "No, Genichiroh, you weren't. I know what happened on Saturday. You couldn't control him. He kissed you. It's okay... I'm not angry."

"You should be," Sanada replied softly.

"Why?" Yukimura cried. "He kissed _you,_ Genichiroh! _You_ didn't kiss _him_!"

"But I _wanted_ to," Sanada whispered. "I _wanted_ to kiss him. I _wanted_ to be the person he needed the most."

"Genichiroh." Yukimura could feel the tears begin to spill down his cheeks. "Genichiroh." His heart was breaking. He could feel it; a searing pain in his chest.

"Sorry," Sanada mumbled. Yukimura shook his head.

"No, Genichiroh."

This was his punishment, surely. For being selfish. He wanted Sanada to himself.

_If you do anything to hurt him, I will take personal revenge._

It had only been several hours since Atobe had left him that message, and he had already gone and done just that.

"Genichiroh," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Sanada moved to say something but Yukimura shook his head. Taking several steps backward, he looked at Sanada one last time before turning on his heel and running back the way he had come. Sanada watched him go with his dark, unreadable eyes. Only when Yukimura had completely disappeared did he turn and walk slowly toward his front door.

--

Atobe sighed and leaned against the side of the building as Kabaji loaded their suitcases into the back of the limousine.

"Atobe, are you sure you want to do this?" Oshitari asked, coming to stand beside him.

"Yes," Atobe replied firmly. Oshitari nodded slowly.

"If you say so," he said softly, before walking away. Atobe turned his gaze to the sky.

There was no point in staying. The further away he got from Sanada and everything that came with him, the better.

"Everything is ready to go, Atobe-san," Kabaji said, appearing before him.

Atobe stared at him for a moment before nodding.

"Excellent. I'll be ready in a few minutes. Round everyone else up, will you?"

Kabaji nodded and plodded off in the direction of Jiroh, who was drooling on Ootori's shoulder. Atobe watched him for a minute before shaking his head slightly and rounding the side of the building. He stood on the sidewalk, watching the cars streak by. A couple strolled past across the street, holding hands and talking amiably. Atobe felt a painful twisting in his chest and stepped backwards, turning his gaze in the other direction. He could see two figures pushing past the salarymen on their way home. One was vaguely reminiscent of Sanada, Atobe realized. He was tall and nicely built, and from where Atobe stood, it looked like he was wearing a cap similar to the one Sanada was so fond of. He chuckled softly and turned away. Leaving had certainly been a good idea. He was starting to see Sanada in complete strangers.

When Atobe returned to the limo, he found that everyone else had already settled in. Shishido sat beside Ootori, his cheeks dyed slightly pink. Mukahi was snuggled up on Oshitari's lap. Jiroh was leaning against Kabaji, fast asleep. Hiyoshi sat beside them, reading.

"Finally," Oshitari drawled, running a hand through Mukahi's hair. "For the one that wanted to leave in the first place, you sure took your time."

Atobe scowled and slammed his door shut.

"Let's go," he called forward to the driver. The limo revved to life and they slowly edged out of the driveway.

--

Sanada Genichiroh did not see Atobe Keigo again. He did his best to erase the pop star from his memory, and concentrated solely on his tennis and his schoolwork.

His teammates noticed a certain change in their vice captain's presence immediately. While he appeared just as fierce and imposing on the surface, something in the way he held himself, the way he spoke, the glint in his eyes, made being around him almost depressing. Niou once told Yagyuu he had suddenly started feeling this inexplicable pity for Sanada. Yagyuu replied, "Sanada-kun is like a lion who has lost his teeth. While he still appears frightening from a distance, the moment he opens his mouth to roar, it becomes clear that he is not a threat."

When he graduated, Sanada was offered a tennis scholarship in England. Without so much as a word to his team, he took it. As the plane left the ground, Sanada vowed to never look back.

And he didn't.


	13. Chapter 13

Ugh. I am **so** sorry for the incredibly belated update, and the lack of review responses, and... Argh. I hate school. But it's _finally_ the weekend, so hopefully I will be able to get some responses in between bouts of homework. :\ Thanks to everyone that reviewed last chapter, I really appreciated it.

And now, here we go..

* * *

_Three Years Later_

--

That was him. Sanada was sure of it. The flash of silver hair, knowing blue eyes, thin lips twisted into a calculating smirk. His pace quickening, Sanada opened his mouth, but found his throat too dry to form the pop star's name. Coughing, he broke into a run, pushing past men and women in dark suits as he reached for Atobe's shoulder. His fingers brushed the silk of the shorter man's shirt and he turned to face Sanada. Atobe gazed at him critically for a moment, before jerking his shoulder away and continuing down the street. Sanada stood stock still for a moment, swallowing hard.

"Atobe," he croaked. "Atobe!" He continued to shout, but found himself rooted to the spot, left to watch helplessly as the silver-haired man disappeared into the throng of people.

The ringing of his alarm clock jolted Sanada from his dream and as he reached for the snooze button he squeezed his eyes shut tight to rid himself of the haunting image of Atobe's face. It was always the same dream. He would see Atobe, chase after him, and reach him, only to be faced with eyes that searched and found nothing and eventually turned away, casting him off as a nobody. And then, as Atobe walked off, Sanada would stand still and shout his name, but there was never a response. Atobe would simply disappear among the crowds of people that always seemed to surround them, no matter where the dream took place.

Sanada slid out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Turning the tap on with a flick of his wrist, he splashed cool water onto his face as he groped for his washcloth. Blinking to clear the water from his eyes, he glanced up at his reflection in the mirror and frowned. He was in need of a haircut; his bangs shaded his dark eyes and thick black strands curled around his ears. It was difficult to find time to get these simple things done, between practice and press conferences and demo matches. Smacking the tube of toothpaste against the sink, Sanada swore under his breath as he tried to squeeze the last remnants of the paste onto his toothbrush. He kicked the door of his closet open with one foot and grabbed a pair of shorts. Pulling them on over his boxers with one hand, he continued to brush his teeth with the other, spitting haphazardly over his shoulder into the sink. Tossing his toothbrush down, he grabbed a shirt and pulled it over his head. Tucking a pair of socks into his pocket, he padded out of his bedroom and down the stairs.

His apartment was too big, too fancy, and too modern. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave him a flawless view of downtown London, and he shivered slightly as he stepped onto the cold marble floor of his kitchen. His manager had surprised him with the apartment after he'd won the Australian Open the year before. There was tennis court in the basement of the apartment building, where he practiced daily for hours on hours. He had several coaches, each specializing in a different area of his game. After practice, Sanada would usually have to dash back upstairs, shower, change into respectable clothes, and rush off to some sort of meeting. Today was no different.

Sanada slung his shoes over his shoulder and grabbed his racket. Hurrying out into the hall, he made a mad dash for the elevator and jabbed furiously at the button labeled 'Basement.' Setting his racket down, he fished his socks out of his pocket and pulled them on. The doors slid open just as he finished tying his shoes, and he strode out of the elevator with the same cool, calm attitude he was famous for. His volley coach, Alan, was waiting by the ball machine. His long red hair was tied back in a ponytail. He was Scottish, if Sanada remembered correctly. His Japanese was horrible, but Sanada appreciated his amiable effort.

"Good morning," he boomed, striding over and giving Sanada a sound thwack on the back. Sanada simply nodded and tossed his racket case onto the bench. "Are you ready?" Alan asked, grabbing a ball and bouncing it up and down on his racket. Sanada nodded again and took his place on the service line. Alan tossed him the ball and Sanada returned it with a gentle underhand volley. They volleyed for a while like this before Alan caught the ball and turned the ball machine on.

"I want you to alternate between deep and shallow," he said, rubbing his forehead. "Watch your feet."

The practice seemed to stretch on forever, and Sanada struggled not to heave a sigh of relief when Alan announced that they were done for the day.

"Your volleys are looking good," he said, tossing Sanada a towel. "I think you've got a good shot at Wimbledon this year."

"Thank you," Sanada replied, inclining his head slightly. Alan laughed and reached out, ruffling Sanada's hair. He was only several years older than Sanada himself, but he seemed to enjoy treating his trainee like a young child. He also found the Japanese way of bowing amusing.

"Have fun at your press conference today. Try to smile, for once."

Sanada grimaced and bowed again before dashing off toward the elevator. As it slowly climbed toward the top floor of the building, he worked on untying his shoes. Every now and then, he would drag his arm across his forehead to clear the sweat from his eyes.

He hadn't cried since that day in the pool.

The thought of Yukimura made his chest tighten and his mouth taste bitter. The thought of Atobe's lips against his own made his heartbeat quicken to a pace that was almost painful.

The elevator doors slid open and Sanada let himself back into his apartment, leaving his thoughts of Yukimura and Atobe behind. Both men belonged in the past. There was no use in thinking of them.

Sanada hurried upstairs and into the bathroom. He turned the cold tap on full blast and stepped into the shower, wincing slightly at the sting of the freezing water against his back. He only indulged in hot showers at the end of the day. The biting cold of his midday washes reminded him that there was still work to do. There was always work to do.

Sanada turned the shower off and reached for a towel. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and ran his fingers along his jaw to check for stubble. Deciding he could probably go another day without shaving, he headed into the bedroom and pulled a white dress shirt off of a hanger. He grabbed a pair of boxers and navy blue slacks and carried them down into the kitchen, where he tossed a piece of bread in the toaster and finished dressing while he waited for the toast to pop up. He ate it plain, with no butter or jam. Running a hand through his wet hair, slipped his keys into his pocket and started out the front door.

Sanada Genichiroh was only two feet outside his apartment that morning in London, England, when he realized how wrong he had been when he had assumed that today would be no different from any other day.

The glint of thin, round-framed spectacles, the soft swishing of long, dark hair that framed a thin face and a pair of lips twisted into a self-satisfied smirk.

"What the _fuck_?"

"Good afternoon, Sanada-kun. You're looking particularly dressy today."

--

Oshitari Yuushi pushed himself off of the whitewashed wall and stuck out his hand. Sanada stared at it, dumbfounded.

"Some hospitality would be appreciated. I've come well out of my way to see you today," Oshitari said, adjusting his glasses with the hand that was not awaiting Sanada's handshake.

"Hospitality?" Sanada repeated, tearing his eyes away from Oshitari's hand long enough to give the man a disbelieving look. "You want _hospitality?_ Listen. I've spent the last three or four years doing my best to forget you, and Atobe, and everything that came with you both."

"Well, I'm here to right that wrong," Oshitari said, withdrawing his hand with a soft sigh. "I must admit, I feel somewhat responsible for what happened between you and Atobe." He paused for a moment. "It's quite a long story. Why don't we discuss it over coffee?"

"I have a press conference to attend," Sanada said, stepping toward the elevator. Oshitari halted him with a steely grip on his shoulder.

"That has been taken care of," he said thinly. "Now, you will come with me."

The coffee shop Oshitari chose was small and rather indiscreet. They sat at a table in the back, between a young man with a laptop and a middle-aged woman holding a thick book.

Oshitari ordered a cappuccino. Sanada asked for water.

"Atobe met you by chance," Oshitari began, stirring his coffee. "I had little to do with that. But from the first words you two exchanged, I could see that you possessed something that Atobe would find endlessly attractive. It was not as immediate, but soon enough, it become clear that you, for one reason or another, found Atobe just as alluring."

Sanada scowled and took a long drink of water. Oshitari smirked.

"Seeing as we only had two weeks in Tokyo, I decided to do my best to hurry things between you two along. Romance was having difficulty pushing its way into the picture, as all the two of you were doing was playing tennis, so I asked you to do other things with him, instead." Noting Sanada's look of disbelief, Oshitari chuckled. "That was _a _reason. Everything I told you about Atobe is true. In any case, I thought things were progressing quite well. The love you two shared, whether or not you want to accept it as such, was substantial, despite its rocky, uneven nature. You looked happy when you were with Atobe, Sanada. And I know that he was happy with you."

Sanada stared hard at the table between them, unwilling to meet Oshitari's gaze. He heard the other man sigh and the slight _clink_ as his coffee cup was returned to the table.

"Why did you come to London, Sanada?" Oshitari asked quietly.

Sanada's heartbeat quickened.

"Because I received a scholarship to study here," he said, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

"You were also presented with the opportunity to go to America, Sweden, and Spain. But you chose to come to England."

"I don't know why I wanted to come here," Sanada said, his hands curling into fists under the table. "I still don't know why I'm here. But since you seem to know so much, why don't you stop playing guardian angel and just tell me?"

"Because you're in love with Atobe."

"Tell me something I _don't_ know, Oshitari," Sanada spat, his eyes blazing. "Tell me about something that _doesn't_ involve Atobe Keigo!"

"Is there anything for you that doesn't involve Atobe Keigo?" Oshitari asked. Sanada found his voice patronizingly soft.

"No," he hissed. "Not anymore."

Oshitari nodded slightly before reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a thin slip of white paper. As he slid it across the table, Sanada recognized it as a ticket.

"I've done my fair share when it comes to meddling with you and Atobe. This is, I suppose you could say, my last hurrah. If you have any interest in seeing Atobe again, whether it is for closure or to open a new door, come to his concert tonight. If you don't want to, then don't. This one is your decision." He rose and pulled his thick, black pea coat over his shoulders. The sky had grown dark and a steady rain was falling. "Atobe Keigo is not necessarily a good person. He is arrogant, selfish, and stubborn, among many things. He will go to almost any measure to see that what he wants becomes his. You are the only case I have ever witnessed in which he seems to have completely given up. Knowing you, and knowing myself, I think you will understand this better than I do." He fished an umbrella out of his pocket and took a step toward the door. "I'm not going to say that I hope to see you tonight. You know more than I do which is the better decision."

With that, Oshitari walked out of the cafe. Sanada sat at their table with his empty water glass and the ticket for another hour before rising, paying for the both of them, and leaving.

--

Oshitari chose not to tell Atobe that he had seen Sanada. In fact, he told only Mukahi, as they sat together, wrapped in a blanket with mugs of tea clutched firmly in their hands.

"Do you think he'll come?" Mukahi asked, nestling his head into the crook of Oshitari's neck. The older man simply shrugged and ran his fingers through Mukahi's cranberry red hair.

"He'll do whatever he sees fit," Oshitari said.

"It was right of you to go and see him, I think," Mukahi said thoughtfully, taking a sip of tea. "I think love always deserves a second chance."

Oshitari stared at him for a long moment, taking in the slender curve of his jaw and his sharp, grey eyes, before grinning and leaning down to give him a sloppy kiss.

"Have you been reading my novels?" he teased, drawing an indignant pout from Mukahi.

"No, you stupid, dumb Yuushi! Those books are garbage!" He scowled. "I was trying to be insightful."

"It worked," Oshitari murmured, nuzzling the smaller man's cheek. "Now hurry and drink your tea. We have to leave in an hour and there are things I'd like to do with you that are _far_ more exciting than being insightful."

--

Sanada hunched his shoulders over more and brought his knees up to his chest. The park bench was uncomfortable. The rain was falling harder, now, too, and had completely soaked through the back of his white dress shirt, which now clung uncomfortably to his dampening skin. His hair hung limply in his face, shadowing his eyes. The sharp corner of the ticket dug into his side and he half wished he had left the stupid thing behind in the cafe. He had no idea what time it was, but he guessed that it was long past seven. That meant the concert had begun.

He reached into his pocket and retrieved the thin slip of paper. Atobe's name was printed on it in thick, block letters, as well as the time, date, and the name of the stadium at which he was performing. A thin, perforated line separated his seat number from the rest of the information printed on the ticket.

A large raindrop found its way onto the ticket and began to blur Atobe's name. A sudden feeling of inexplicable panic surged through Sanada's veins and he quickly wiped the drop away, almost breathing a sigh of relief when Atobe's name became clear again. Slipping the ticket back into his pocket, he lifted his face to the sky and wondered vaguely what song Atobe was performing now. Was he still singing the same things he sang back then? Those strange, unreal songs. Atobe's lyrics reached into a place Sanada could not reach himself, and therefore were nothing but a collection of words wrapped around an invisible meaning. Was he the only one that found this to be the case?

He frowned and brought his knees closer to his chest. It was difficult to believe that people like Marui and Kirihara could understand these twisted lyrics while he, who had mastered many a piece of ancient Japanese literature, could not.

He suddenly remembered the song Atobe had written for him.

_'Cross With You.'_

What had the lyrics said?

_'Who could make me lose my cool so much?'_

There had been something else.

Sanada hummed softly to himself, trying to recall the lyrics he had heard so long ago.

_'My smile reflects the shattered pictures of my dreams_

_Since when did I lose my sense of freedom?'_

Sanada clenched his fists again. This song he could understand.

Atobe's dreams were not the only ones that had been shattered. Sanada had watched his own crumble in his hands. His carefully structured world, perfect down to the last detail, had been utterly destroyed by Atobe, and he had never been able to rebuild it.

Digging his fingernails into his palms, Sanada rose and took a step away from the park bench. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest, echoing in his ears. He pulled the ticket out of his pocket and clasped it firmly in his hand.

He wanted Atobe to see exactly what he had done.

With a soft grunt, Sanada took off running. His feet slapped against the wet pavement.

Three and a half years.

Three and a half years of misery, of haunted dreams, of regrets and anger and what-ifs.

Damn Atobe Keigo to hell if he hadn't suffered through the same things.

* * *

The italicized lyrics are the English translation of Atobe Keigo's "Cross With You". :)


	14. Chapter 14

Hey everyone. Sorry, long time, no update... Again. However, due to the fact that I tore a ligament in my knee playing soccer, I've suddenly ample time to lie around and do nothing. So with homework out of the way, I finally have time to update. This chapter... I'm not sure about it. Hopefully you all enjoy. :) Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I'm so sorry I still haven't gotten to some of your replies. I'll do my best to catch up tonight.

* * *

"He's not coming, is he?"

Oshitari glanced up into Mukahi's scowling face and sighed.

"I don't know," he said.

"It's already intermission," Mukahi cried, throwing his hands into the air. "This is ridiculous. Give me your cell phone. Do you have his number?"

Oshitari shook his head. "This is Sanada's decision. We can't interfere."

"Well he's making the wrong one!"

"Who's making the wrong what?"

Mukahi whirled around and stuck his tongue out at Shishido. "None of your business."

"Is now," Shishido countered, running a hand through his hair. "Tell me."

"No."

"Yes."

"Stop it," Oshitari snapped, rubbing his temples. "You two aren't making this any easier." He rose and stalked away, muttering something unintelligible.

"Geez, what's eating him?" Shishido asked.

"He's stressed, obviously," Mukahi replied, rolling his eyes. "God, I didn't know you were _that_ stupid."

"Shut up," Shishido said. "Besides, since when does that guy stress out? What's going on?"

"Fine, but if I tell you, you can't say anything to anyone else."

"Okay, whatever," Shishido said, shaking his head slightly.

"Oshitari saw Sanada today," Mukahi whispered.

"What?" Shishido spluttered. "When? How? _Why?_"

"To see if he was suffering just as much as Atobe is, I guess," Mukahi said, shrugging.

"And?"

"And he gave him a ticket to this concert and told him to come if he wanted to sort things out with Atobe."

"Well why the hell isn't he here yet?" Shishido growled.

"That's what I'm asking!"

"Hey, you two." The pair spun around. Hiyoshi stared back at them. "We're back on in five minutes. Atobe wants everyone onstage. Now." With that, he turned and walked away, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Suck up," Mukahi hissed. Shishido snorted.

"Yeah right. He wants to go solo and we all know it."

"Yeah, but he plays _bass_," Mukahi said, starting toward the stage.

"That's why he's still here," Shishido replied, ducking under a wire and picking up his guitar. "If Sanada's not in the audience when the curtains go up, I'm going to walk out and hunt him down."

"I'll be right behind you," Mukahi chimed.

"It's rare for you two to agree on something," Oshitari said, smirking as he appeared from behind a mass of equipment. "Now get onstage before I fire the both of you."

"Oh Yuushi, you wouldn't," Mukahi purred.

Oshitari simply chuckled and gave Mukahi a soft push in the direction of the stage.

--

Sanada pushed his way past a group of young girls and spotted his empty seat. Breathing a sigh of relief, he sank into it, letting his eyes close as he did his best to dull the noise of the surrounding people.

He was here. In the front row. Facing the stage on which Atobe Keigo would doubtless be standing in a matter of minutes. For the first time in years, he would lay eyes on the man that had changed his life.

His shirt was still wet and he was aware that he probably looked quite disheveled, but he was not here to make a good impression. He was here because he needed to see his hurt reflected in Atobe's eyes.

The girls next to him began to scream and Sanada opened his eyes and realized that the lights had dimmed. His heart began to pound and he gripped the arms of his chair tightly.

_Atobe._

Suddenly, red light filled the stadium and the sound of a guitar echoed through the stadium. A thin beam of white light illuminated Shishido, who was standing on the left side of the stage, his fingers flying over the fretboard of his guitar. Mukahi appeared next, followed by Hiyoshi and Jiroh. Finally, a low, rich voice filled Sanada's ears, and Atobe Keigo appeared directly in front of him.

Time seemed to stop for Sanada. All he could hear was Atobe's voice, all he could see was the man's strange, blue eyes, his pale skin, his silvery hair, which hung loosely around his face. His long, slender fingers gripped the microphone tightly, as if he never wanted to let go.

And his voice.

There was something in his voice that had not been there all those years ago. Something cold, broken, and despairing. It was as if all of Atobe had been turned to stone, and only his heart, small and weak and pitiful, was still beating feebly in his chest.

Sanada felt his chest tighten and he balled his hands into fists. He slowly rose to his feet, and felt a pair of eyes settle on him.

Shishido.

The guitarist was staring at him, his brown eyes full of fury. He took a step toward Sanada, and mouthed something.

_"It's about time, you asshole."_

Sanada grimaced.

Shishido sauntered over to Mukahi and whispered something to him. The redhead shot a glance Sanada's way and then turned back to Shishido, who began making his way back over toward Sanada.

_"When the show ends,_" he mouthed, _"don't even think about moving."_

Sanada looked away.

--

"I'm exhausted," Atobe huffed, sinking into a chair and watching disapprovingly as a stagehand fumbled with his guitar. "Someone bring me some water," he demanded, extending his hand.

"Aw, shuddup," Shishido grumbled, pulling his hat over his tumble of dark hair. He tossed a half-empty bottle of water in Atobe's direction and headed for the door. Oshitari watched out of the corner of his eye.

The hallway was dark, and Shishido tripped over several wires before finally pushing aside a dark curtain and stepping out onto the stage. The bright, hot stage lights had been replaced by the soft, flickering glow of halogen lamps. Shishido glanced out into the stands.

They were empty.

"_Fuck_," he muttered, kicking a loose bolt across the stage. "Fucking _ass._"

"I couldn't have just sat there. People would have eventually questioned me."

Shishido whirled around. "Where the _hell_ are you? The second I lay my eyes on you, I'm going to beat the living shit out of you!" he shouted.

The shadows flickered and Sanada suddenly appeared on the far side of the stage. Balling his hands into fists, Shishido strode purposefully toward the other man, biting his lip in anticipation. The moment he reached Sanada, he grabbed a fistful of the taller man's shirt and jerked him forward. Sanada stumbled slightly. Shishido drew his hand back. Sanada simply stared at him with tired eyes.

Shishido frowned. Sanada looked different. Older. Worn. He was slumped slightly, and his lips, which were chapped and bitten bloody, were not set in his usual stern expression. Instead, they were twisted into a strange grimace, that was not quite a smile, but not quite a scowl.

"You look like shit," Shishido growled. Sanada heaved a long sigh. Shishido punched him square in the eye.

--

"I think I deserved that," Sanada said.

He and Shishido were sitting on the edge of the stage, their legs dangling over the side. The area around Sanada's eye was already beginning to bruise.

"You did," Shishido assured him. "You're a fuckin' asshole."

"Am I?" Sanada muttered, gently pressing a finger to his left eyelid. His eye was swollen shut, and the area was starting to turn a dark, ugly purple.

"Yeah. Atobe's a mess. And it's _your_ fault."

"I didn't ask him to fall in love with me," Sanada said.

"You knew _you_ were in love with him, though, but you still snuffed him for whatever his name was.. Yuhimuta or something."

"Yukimura," Sanada said softly.

"Yeah, whatever. Are the two of you still together?" Shishido demanded.

Sanada shook his head.

"Idiot." Shishido kicked his foot against the stage. "You could have called or written or something."

"No." Sanada leaned forward. "I couldn't have. I put Atobe and Yukimura and everything that came with them behind me when I left for England. I knew I couldn't live properly with their faces haunting me."

"You can't just lock something like love up, throw away the key, and hope for the best," Shishido said. "You've just gotta deal with it."

"Easier said than done," Sanada muttered.

Shishido sighed. "You think I don't know that?"

Sanada shrugged.

"Listen," Shishido said, pulling his legs up and rising to his feet. "Stay here. I'm going to send someone to talk to you. I don't know who it'll be. If you run, I'll hunt you down and kill you."

With that, he turned and disappeared behind the long, dark curtain that cloaked the backstage area. Sanada sighed and turned his gaze out to the thousands of empty seats staring devotedly at the stage. He thought back to less than an hour ago, when Atobe Keigo had stood, not far from where he was sitting right now, surrounded by thousands upon thousands of adoring fans. Girls and boys alike, shouting his name, waving signs declaring their love in brightly colored letters. People that had devoted themselves to an entirely foreign language all because Atobe Keigo had been able to worm himself into their hearts and stay there, content in the warmth and the consistency of the strong beat.

Atobe had also done his best to worm his way into Sanada's heart, but what he had found there had not been what he was looking for. There was no strong, consistent beat. There was no comforting warmth. There was simply the irregular pounding of an overworked muscle that had been abused for all the wrong reasons.

Sanada sighed and rested his head in his hands. He could hear footsteps approaching. Who would be shouting at him next? Oshitari? Mukahi?

"Get up."

Sanada's eyes snapped open.

"Did you not hear me? I said, get up."

Sanada slowly raised his head and placed his hands on the smooth, cool stage. He carefully pushed himself up.

"Turn around."

Sucking in a deep breath, Sanada took a small step backward before turning with an awkward shuffle of his feet.

"Look at me."

Slowly, Sanada raised his eyes.

Atobe Keigo sighed.

"So it is you," he said, shaking his head slightly. "And Shishido wasn't lying." He glanced at Sanada's eye. As he took a step forward, Sanada felt his heartbeat quicken. "What do you want?" Atobe's question was spoken softly, as if he didn't really want to hear the answer.

"I don't know," Sanada mumbled. "I.."

"Why did you come?" Atobe asked. Sanada glanced at the other man's face. His grey-blue eyes were staring over Sanada's shoulder, and his mouth was set in a thin line.

"I.."

"Tell me the truth, Sanada."

"I.." Sanada bit his lip until he tasted blood. He could feel Atobe's cold gaze on him. "I.."

"Spit it out, Sanada."

"I wanted to see... you."

"No you didn't," Atobe scoffed. "Don't lie to me."

"No.. I did. I wanted to see you," Sanada said. "I wanted to see what had happened to you. I wanted to see if you were suffering."

"And your verdict?" Atobe stared solemnly into Sanada's eyes.

"You are," Sanada said quietly.

"You're right. I am. I'm suffering, Sanada Genichiroh." He paused and licked his thin lips. "Now get out."

--

It was still raining when Sanada pushed through the glass door of the stadium. His shirt, which had just begun to dry, was soaked almost immediately. He took several steps away from the stadium.

And then he stopped.

It wasn't by choice, he realized. The Sanada Genichiroh he was supposed to be wanted to keep going, to walk away and never look back like he had promised to do three years ago. But the other Sanada Genichiroh, the one that had never quite allowed itself to fade away, the one that was in love with Atobe Keigo, refused to take another step. This Sanada Genichiroh was pleading with him, telling him to turn around, go back, beg for Atobe's forgiveness.

"I don't need to be pardoned," Sanada muttered. But something inside him said that it didn't matter. He could be wrong this time, if it meant getting Atobe back.

Sanada took a step backward.

No. He didn't need Atobe anymore. Look at where he was now. Playing professional tennis. This was his dream. He didn't need Atobe to complete it.

No.. That was a lie. Atobe's face was always somewhere, floating in the back of his mind. And as much as Sanada hated to admit it, he wanted Atobe there. He was afraid of what he would become without the thought that maybe, one day, everything would work itself out.

Sanada turned around. The glass doors shimmered in the rain. Sanada closed his eyes and reached for the handle.

--

Atobe walked back to the dressing room with his hands in his pockets. Almost all of the equipment had already been loaded into the vans, and the hallway was strangely empty. About a hundred feet away, he could see a sliver of light escaping from the dressing room. He paused.

_"Now get out."_

_Sanada looked at him for a moment. His eyes scanned Atobe's face, but it wasn't obvious what they were looking for. Atobe stared into Sanada's eyes, careful not to look too hard. He didn't want to know what had happened to Sanada Genichiroh._

_After what felt like an eternity, Sanada lowered his gaze to the floor. His mouth moved slightly, but Atobe ignored it. Another minute passed, and then Sanada began to move. He walked over to the edge of the stage and stared down at the floor below for a while. When he jumped, Atobe didn't hear him land. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Sanada's figure disappeared up the aisleway. Only when he heard a door open and close did he himself move._

That had been their closing.

Atobe took another step toward the dressing room.

Suddenly, he heard a door slam in the distance. Someone was shouting his name.

"Atobe!"

The sound of footsteps grew louder and Atobe felt his heartbeat quicken.

"Atobe!"

He heard the rustling of fabric and the slap of shoes against cement. He closed his eyes.

"Atobe!"

The voice was close now. He could hear the person's breaths. They were short and ragged.

The arms that encircled him were wet, and he shivered slightly. Warm air tickled his ear as Sanada exhaled.

"Atobe."

The arms tightened and Atobe felt hot tears begin to well.

"Let go of me," he whispered.

"No," Sanada murmured.

"Please," Atobe said, doing his best to pull away. "Please, Sanada, let go!"

"No," Sanada repeated, pulling Atobe closer. "No, Atobe."

"I don't want this!" Atobe cried. A tear slid into his mouth. "I don't want this, Sanada. I've had enough."

"We've both had enough," Sanada said softly. "That's why it's time to stop."

"Let me go," Atobe choked.

"I did," Sanada said. "I let you go three years ago. I let you go five minutes ago. I can't let go anymore. I love you."

Atobe drew in a shaky breath.

"I love you," Sanada repeated. "I've loved you since the day we met. I'll love you forever. I've tried to stop. I can't. It was love at first sight, Atobe."

"Please let me go," Atobe said quietly, and this time, something in his voice made Sanada draw back. Atobe took a step away. "Leave, Sanada."

"Atobe-"

"Sanada, leave!" Atobe shouted.

"Atobe, why are you doing this?" Sanada demanded.

"Leave!" Atobe screamed.

"I can't." Sanada dug his nails into his palms. "I can't leave, Atobe!"

"I hate you, Sanada Genichiroh! I hate you! I hate you! Get away from me!"

"Why?"

"Get out!" Atobe screeched. He turned to face Sanada. His cheeks were streaked with tears. "Get out!"

Sanada stared at him. Atobe watched his knuckles turn white.

"Fine," Sanada said finally. He turned and began to walk away. Atobe felt his breathing quicken and he took a step forward. Sanada was growing smaller. Atobe felt his chest tighten and his vision began to blur and spin.

"Sanada," he croaked. He couldn't tell whether or not the taller man had stopped. "Sanada."

Why did all of this feel so familiar?

_This, you, are impossible..._

The hallway was growing impossibly dark, and Sanada was no longer visible. Atobe felt himself begin to fall. Impulsively, he reached out with his hands. He felt someone grab his wrist and pull him against them. Their chest was wet and cold.

"Sanada," he whispered.

A cool hand touched his forehead. "It's okay, Atobe. Relax."

Atobe closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. When he reopened them, his vision had cleared somewhat. Sanada was staring down at him, his lips parted slightly, his hair shadowing his eyes.

"Sanada," Atobe mumbled, reaching up with a shaking hand to touch the other man's cheek. Sanada smiled and covered Atobe's hand with his own.

"I think causing two panic attacks might require some sort of compensation," he said. Atobe laughed softly.

"Mmm.. And you owe me dinner, remember?"

Sanada laughed. "How could I forget?"

_But I won't give up._

* * *

Hopefully you all enjoyed. :) I think my knee would _really _appreciate some Tango oneshots from you all, too. Seriously, I've heard there's a new medical study beginning to circulate that says reading Tango Pair fluff does wonders for injuries. Anyone got anything for me? ;)


	15. Chapter 15

Hey, I'm so sorry for the loooong lack of updates. School and an injury suddenly devoured my life, but it's almost winter break and I'm all fixed up, so I figured it was a good time to finally post.

Secondly, thanks to Xiana Asuka for helping me out with this chapter. Hopefully I did your edits justice. I sort of feel like I didn't.

Thirdly, enjoy! This is the second-to-last chapter, expect an epilogue to follow soon.. Well, relatively soon... I'll try to have it up within the next month.

Thanks, and happy holidays!

* * *

_3 Months Later_

"No, you idiot, it was two _tablespoons_ of curry powder. Not two _teaspoons._"

"They were tablespoons!" Atobe protested, rummaging in the sink for a minute before triumphantly revealing a silver spoon. "See? It says _TSP. T_able_SP_oon."

"No, _this_ one says 'Tablespoon'," Sanada sighed, holding up another measuring spoon. _TBSP _was imprinted on the handle. Atobe scowled and snatched the spoon away.

"How was I supposed to know?" he demanded. "I grabbed this one first and assumed it was the right one!"

"Check both next time," Sanada said, reaching for the box of curry powder and shaking some into the large, red pot that sat simmering on the stove.

"That wastes precious time," Atobe replied, heaving himself up onto the counter and watching Sanada stir the curry. "Come here."

Sanada turned the heat down and set the lid on the pot before making his way over to Atobe. "Yes?"

Atobe grinned haughtily. "Come stand right here," he said, pointing directly in front of him. Sanada took a step forward, and Atobe felt his warm breath on his forehead. The smaller man reached forward and took Sanada's arms, wrapping them firmly around his waist. He draped his own around Sanada's shoulders.

"Atobe," Sanada murmured. "I can't leave the curry alone."

"Kiss me," Atobe ordered, closing his eyes. Sanada drank in the sight of his face for a moment before leaning down and covering the pop star's lips with his own. He felt Atobe thrust his tongue into his mouth and suddenly an intensely hot flavor burned down his throat. He pulled away, spluttering, and shot Atobe a glare.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, running the back of his hand along his mouth and heading for the sink.

"Curry powder," Atobe replied, grinning. "I'm still working on your punishment for leaving me, and you've still got a ways to go before I'm satisfied."

"Asshole," Sanada muttered, licking his lips and lifting the lid off of the curry pot.

"Look who's talking," Atobe smirked.

"Shouldn't you two be like, permanently joined at the lips or something?" Shishido asked as he entered the kitchen, brushing past the two to retrieve a can of soda. "You spend all your time exchanging lame-ass insults."

"It's all part of foreplay, Shishido," Atobe replied with a coy smile. "Of course, you wouldn't know what that was..."

"Shut up," Shishido growled. "Just 'cause Choutarou and I aren't slutty like Oshitari and Mukahi doesn't mean we don't know how to have a good time," he said, scowling.

"Who are you calling a slut, bitch?" Mukahi said, coming in behind Shishido and giving him a hard slap on the back of his head.

"Don't call me that!" Shishido hissed. Mukahi's eyes widened.

"Oh my God, that's so defensive! You bottom, don't you?" A slow grin spread across his face. "Shishido bottoms!" He burst out laughing.

"I do _not_!" Shishido shouted, lunging for Mukahi. "Shut up!"

Sanada sighed and replaced the lid of the curry pot before lifting himself up onto the counter beside Atobe, who was watching the proceedings with an amused smirk.

"Glad to be back?" the pop star asked, giving Sanada a sidelong glance.

"Positively ecstatic," Sanada said dryly. Atobe chuckled.

"It's ironic, really," he said, tapping his chin. "Things were quite somber when you weren't around."

"That's because you threatened to beat our asses if we even _thought_ about smiling!" Mukahi protested, squirming to get away from Shishido.

"What's with all the ruckus?" Oshitari drawled, sauntering in. Ootori followed close behind.

"Atobe's making trouble," Sanada said, pushing himself off the counter.

"He does that sometimes," Oshitari said, smirking. Atobe rolled his eyes.

"Yuushi, Shishido's trying to kill me!" Mukahi whimpered, pressing his face into Oshitari's back.

"There, there." Oshitari turned around and absentmindedly patted Gakuto's head.

"Come on, Choutarou, let's get out of here before the stupid starts getting to us, too. You should see the things these four do. Sickening." Shishido grabbed Ootori's wrist and pulled him out of the kitchen.

"Don't chew too many holes in the sheets, Shishido!" Mukahi shouted after him before bursting into another round of uncontrollable laughter. Oshitari sighed.

"Gakuto, you shouldn't exploit Ryou's weaknesses. He's very touchy."

Mukahi sniggered. Oshitari rolled his eyes before turning to Sanada and Atobe.

"Jiroh dragged Hiyoshi out to a movie, and Gakuto and I are going out to dinner now. I'm not sure what Shishido and Ootori's plans are, but apart from them, and Kabaji, of course, the two of you have the run of the house. Clean up whatever messes you make," he said, smirking.

"Will do," Sanada deadpanned. Oshitari chuckled.

"Well then, see you two later."

With that, he and Mukahi sauntered out of the kitchen, talking in low voices. Atobe sighed and slid off the counter.

"So," he murmured, taking a slow step toward Sanada. "The house to ourselves..." He drew the tip of his pointer finger into his mouth for a moment before tracing it along his lips. "What should we do?"

Sanada smirked and reached for a washcloth. Atobe raised his eyebrows.

"Are you going to blindfold me?"

Sanada had the decency to look surprised.

"No. You're going to wash the dishes." He tossed the washcloth at Atobe and turned back to the curry. Muttering something under his breath, Atobe made his way over to the sink and began scrubbing. Several minutes passed, the only noises being the clinks and clangs as pots and plates collided in the sink and the gentle bubbling of the curry.

"I can't believe this," Atobe muttered. "We spend three years apart _dying_ to get back to each other, we _finally_ work things out, and now we're practically alone in the apartment and we're cooking and cleaning like some married couple. We're supposed to be having wild sex against the counter."

"You've read too many of Oshitari's novels," Sanada said dryly.

"Well if so many people can write about it, some people _must_ do it," Atobe grumbled. He ran a dry washcloth around the inside of the last pan before throwing it down with a look of distaste. "Done."

"Good, the curry is just about ready," Sanada said. He glanced down at Atobe's shirt, which was splattered with soapy water and curry powder. "Go change. It'll be ready when you come back."

"Fine," Atobe said, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it onto the floor. He waltzed out of the kitchen, his hips swinging just slightly. He threw one last glance over his shoulder as he stepped out into the hallway, but Sanada simply rolled his eyes and turned away.

The moment Atobe disappeared, Sanada snapped into action. Knowing Atobe, Sanada had around ten minutes to prepare, and there was no time to waste. Turning the flame under the curry down to low, Sanada rolled up his sleeves and hurried into the living room. A small table sat in the corner, covered in magazines and video game cases. Sanada cleared the table with one sweep of his arm and lifted it. At the end of the main hallway, two floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a stunning view of the city below. Sanada set the table down between the windows and covered it with a sleek, black cloth he had discovered in Oshitari's bureau. He pulled up two chairs and set the table carefully. After quickly filling two glasses with an expensive white wine he had bought the week before, he set two steaming bowls of curry beside the gleaming cutlery. He could still hear Atobe moving about in their room, opening and closing drawers. Ducking into Oshitari's study, Sanada pulled off his food-stained shirt and slipped into the crisp, white dress shirt he had hung over Oshitari's chair earlier that morning. Sanada squinted at his reflection in the computer screen and ran a hand through his hair, frowning slightly at the way it settled over his forehead. Straightening, he took a step toward the hallway before pausing. Drawing in a long, slow breath, Sanada reached into his jeans pocket. His fingers brushed the velvet surface of a small, indigo box, and his heart skipped a beat.

"Atobe, are you ready?" he called, sliding his hand out of his pocket.

"Yeah." Atobe appeared from around the corner. "You clean up nicely," he said, smirking. Sanada sighed.

"Close your eyes," he ordered. Atobe raised his eyebrows.

"Why?" he drawled, licking his lips.

"Just do it, Keigo," Sanada snapped, but his voice was soft, and he placed a hand on Atobe's shoulder. He waited until creamy lids descended over grey-blue eyes before pushing Atobe forward gently, toward the table he had set at the end of the hallway. He carefully settled Atobe into a chair before dimming the lights and lighting the candle he had placed in the center of the table.

"Can I open my eyes yet?" Atobe asked, trying to sound impatient but failing to conceal his pleasure.

"Yes," Sanada said, sliding into the chair across from Atobe's. The pop star's eyes widened as he drank in his surroundings.

"Wow, Genichiroh," he murmured, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You really went all out."

"Penance," Sanada replied, the corner of his mouth twisting upward in a grin as he lifted his fork.

"I see." Atobe took a bite of curry and laughed. "I suppose I should get you in trouble more often, then. Who knew you had such a sappy side?"

"I think I've hinted toward its existence several times before," Sanada said, shrugging.

"I suppose." Atobe set his fork down and rested his chin in his hand. "I like your hair long," he said. Sanada frowned.

"It needs a trim again," he said, pushing his bangs back with one hand. "It won't stop growing."

"Mm, hair does that," Atobe replied, sipping his wine. Sanada rolled his eyes.

"Stop stating the obvious and just eat," he ordered.

"I'd rather insult your intelligence," Atobe said, smirking.

"You have forever to do that," Sanada said, reaching over to take a forkful of Atobe's curry. When there was no immediate response from the pop star, Sanada glanced up. Atobe was staring at him with wide eyes.

"What?" Sanada asked, sliding the forkful of curry into his mouth. Atobe shook his head slightly.

"You shouldn't say things like that," he said softly.

"Like what?"

"Things about forever."

"Why not?" Sanada set his fork down and regarded Atobe with his serious eyes. Atobe didn't respond. Sighing, Sanada pushed his chair back and stood. He took two steps over to where Atobe sat and crouched beside him.

"Listen, Keigo... We haven't had the smoothest of relationships. In fact, we've hardly _had_ one. When we first met, I was far too tangled up in my own shortcomings to see how important you had become to me. But I had three years to sort myself out, and now I know exactly where I stand." He paused and took a deep breath. Reaching into his jeans pocket, he closed his fingers around the velvet box. He shifted onto one knee and opened his fist to reveal the box. Atobe made a strangled noise. "I'm aware of how completely ridiculous this is," Sanada began, cursing the tremor in his voice, "seeing that we've really only been a couple for two and a half months. But I've been in love with you long enough to know that I will never feel this way about anyone else. And even if asking you to marry me might seem a little extreme, it was the only way I could think of to show you exactly how hard I thought... And how much I love you." He swallowed hard, and with a shaking hand, opened the tiny box to reveal a thin, silver band. "So, I suppose what I'm asking is, will you-"

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the hallway, followed by a disbelieving, and all too familiar, voice:

"No. Fucking. Way."

WIth a tired sigh, Sanada turned around to see Shishido staring at them, his mouth hanging open. A shattered glass lay at his feet.

"Shishido-san, are you alri-... Oh, my goodness..." Ootori stopped beside Shishido, looking equally shocked.

"Is this for real?" Shishido demanded.

"It _was_," Sanada grumbled, rising to his feet. "Do you need help cleaning up?"

"Oh, no, we'll just leave it," Ootori said quickly, grabbing Shishido's arm and tugging him back the way they had come. "Sorry to disturb you!"

With that, the pair disappeared back down the hall. Sanada sighed and turned back to Atobe.

"So?"

"So what? You never asked," Atobe said smugly, giving Sanada a coy look from beneath his eyelashes.

"You spoiled little..." Sanada trailed off and knelt back down. "Fine. Marry me." Atobe raised his eyebrows, and Sanada blew out a short breath. "Please?" he added.

The pop star tilted his head and regarded Sanada for a moment, as if thinking. Sanada rolled his eyes and sat back on his heels.

"The ring doesn't have a diamond on it," Atobe said finally. Sanada gave him a disbelieving look.

"Answer the question, Keigo," he said through gritted teeth. Atobe sighed.

"If I must... But you find it frustrating when I point out the obvious," he countered.

"Keigo."

"Fine, fine. Of course I'll marry you, Genichiroh. You'd have to be an idiot to expect any other answer." He extended his left hand, and Sanada slid the ring onto his slender finger.

"You can read the inscription later," Sanada said, pulling Atobe to his feet.

"Inscription?" Atobe repeated curiously, but further musings were silenced by Sanada's lips on his.

"I love you," Sanada murmured as they broke apart. Atobe laughed and pressed his head against Sanada's chest.

"You sap. If the rest of the world knew how soft you were, there's no way you would have made it as a pro tennis player."

"That's why it's our secret," Sanada muttered. "Idiot."

"Hmm, I suppose," Atobe agreed, tilting his face back and pressing his lips against Sanada's again. "Where are we getting married?"

"I haven't thought that far in advance," Sanada admitted, his grip on Atobe's waist slackening. Atobe hummed and pulled away, settling back into his chair. Sanada did the same.

"Antarctica would be impressive," Atobe mused, lifting a forkful of curry to his mouth.

"Too cold," Sanada said, scowling and downing the rest of his wine.

"I like cold," Atobe protested.

"Too cold," Sanada repeated.

"Fine. On top of a mountain."

Sanada raised his eyebrows. "A mountain?" he said dubiously. Atobe nodded.

"It's perfect, really," he insisted, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hand. The cool metal of the ring pressed against his skin. "It suits the both of us."

"I suppose," Sanada admitted. He sighed. "We have some time to plan this out, you know, Keigo. It doesn't have to happen tomorrow."

"The sooner, the better." Atobe rose and picked up his empty bowl. "That way, you can buy me another ring before you forget that this next one has to have a diamond. I suppose a sapphire would be alright, but I think diamonds are more elegant..."

"Atobe," Sanada interrupted, standing. "Shut up."

"You can't say that to your fiancé," Atobe protested, glancing at Sanada over his shoulder. "Highly inappropriate."

"No, I can say it even more now that you are my fiancé, because I don't have to worry about you walking off anymore."

"Rings come off."

"That one doesn't."

Atobe laughed. "So who should we tell first?" he asked, pressing his shoulder into Sanada's as they made their way down the hall.

"Oshitari already knows," Sanada replied. "Since there was no way I was going to your family, I decided to ask him for permission. _Something_ about this had to be traditional."

"So if Oshitari knows, Gakuto now knows. And of course, Shishido and Ootori do, too. And most likely Kabaji. So let's assume the band knows. Who next?"

Sanada shifted uncomfortably. "I was thinking I would tell Yukimura."

Atobe stiffened noticeably. "Of course," he said, forcing his lips into a grimace. "Yukimura."

"I think he deserves to know," Sanada said quietly, setting his bowl down in the sink and glancing up at Atobe, unsure.

"Whatever you say." Atobe set his bowl atop Sanada's and started toward the door. "I'm going to go shower."

"Atobe.... Keigo." Sanada reached out and and wrapped his fingers around Atobe's wrist. "Can we tell him together?"

The pop star rolled his eyes and placed his hands on his hips. "You want me to talk to the man that took you away from me for three years? Just like that?" He shook his head slightly. "As I'm sure you've realized, I'm a very proud person and I hold grudges for a very long time."

"It wasn't his fault, Keigo."

"Yes it was. Now please let go. I need a shower."

Atobe felt the fingers around his wrist tighten, and he was pulled back against Sanada's warm, broad chest.

"No," Sanada murmured. Atobe sighed, and his lips twisted into a shadow of a smirk.

"You need to work on your persuasive skills," he chided, reaching behind him to cup Sanada's cheek. The taller man leaned into the touch. "And as for Yukimura, I'll consider it. But don't expect me to make any compromises." His smirk widened, and he felt warm air ghost across his neck as Sanada laughed.

"Should I ever expect compromises from you?" he asked, tightening his arms around Atobe's chest.

"When I think it's reasonable to compromise," Atobe replied, shrugging. He lifted up his left hand, staring at the ring that glinted on his slender finger.

"Something tells me I shouldn't even _try_ to plan this wedding."

Atobe grinned. "Yes, but that's because you have terrible taste."

"Is that an allusion to my cap?" Sanada asked, turning Atobe around in his arms and frowning down at him. The pop star reached up and pressed a chaste kiss to Sanada's lips.

"I'll let you ponder that one while I shower," he said, wriggling out of Sanada's grip and heading toward their room.

"What makes you think you'll be showering alone?" Sanada demanded, following Atobe into the hallway.

"Now, now, Genichiroh. Please keep your raging lust in check, dear." Atobe chuckled and quickened his pace. Sanada did the same, a smile splitting his stoic face.

"That's simply too difficult when it's you we're talking about," Sanada said smoothly.

"Sly, Genichiroh. But I'm not _that_ easy."

"I beg to differ."

"Shut up."

"I love you too."

"For all your sternness, you're really just a lumbering sap."

"Why thank you." Sanada closed the bedroom door behind them and pushed Atobe toward the bed. "You thin-lipped prude."

"Ass."

"Now, now. Language," Sanada murmured, pressing his lips to Atobe's ear.

"Nn.. Genichiroh." Atobe released a long breath. "I love you."

Sanada chuckled and propped himself up on his elbows. He stared down at Atobe with serious eyes.

"Good."

"What do you mean, _good_? That's your cue to say 'I love you too, Keigo!'" Atobe protested, frowning.

Sanada grinned and leaned down to kiss him.

"I do," he said softly, pulling away. "But I loved you first, so I don't have to say it as often as you do." He laughed and pushed himself off the bed.

"Hey, where are you going?" Atobe cried, lunging after him. "That's cheating!"

"All's fair in love and war," Sanada said smugly. "Read the inside of that ring sometime."

* * *

Reviews are lovely presents. :)


	16. Epilogue

Aghh, I'm so sorry for the ridiculously long delay. But I finally bring you the epilogue of _Hitomebore_. Special thanks to Xiana Asuka, who read this over for me and helped smooth out the glitches.

To everyone who reviewed, you have my endless thanks. Your suggestions and thoughts really helped to shape this story, and have vastly improved my skills as an author. It has been great hearing from all of you throughout the story, and I sincerely hope to hear from all of you again in future stories.

Thanks again! :)

* * *

Yukimura sifted mindlessly through his mail as he sipped his morning coffee.

"Junk," he muttered, tossing a stack of white envelopes into the garbage. He picked up the remainder of the mail - mostly bills, and reached for his coffee cup. His fingers slipped on the smooth paper envelopes and two or three fell from his grasp, landing softly on the table. He scooped them up, only to notice a small, dark blue envelope he had not seen before poking out between the electricity bill and the renewal reminder from _Tennis Monthly._ Yukimura set his coffee cup back down and slid into his seat. He turned the envelope over, and his eyes widened at the familiar handwriting that embellished the front.

_Sanada,_ he thought. His hands began to shake as he slipped one finger under the seal. He removed a creamy white card covered in neat rows of calligraphy.

_You are cordially invited to the union of_

_Sanada Genichiroh _

_and_

_Atobe Keigo_

The card went on to list dates, locations, and times, but Yukimura paid no notice. _The union of Sanada Genichiroh and Atobe Keigo._

"Union?" Yukimura murmured, tracing a finger along the elegant kanji. He shook his head and grimaced. It had to be pathetic to have your hopes dashed by nothing more than a 6 by 4 piece of paper.

But now he had it in writing.

Sanada was never coming back.

He wasn't going to burst through the front door one winter evening, drop his bags on the floor and shout, "Seiichi! I made a mistake. I _love_ you! Please, please take me back!"

He wasn't going to call from a telephone booth three blocks away from Yukimura's apartment, heartbroken and looking for a friend.

No, he was sending an invitation to his wedding.

Yukimura gave a hollow laugh. The bottom line of the card was an RSVP number. Yukimura picked up his phone and dialed.

"Hello?"

It was not Sanada's voice.

"Hello, Atobe-san. This is Yukimura Seiichi."

There was a long silence. Yukimura could hear rustling on the other end of the line. Finally, Atobe spoke, and Yukimura could detect a slight tremor in his voice.

"Ah, Yukimura-san. I trust you received the invitation?"

"Mm. That's why I'm calling."

"Of course. Should Genichiroh and I expect the pleasure of your company?"

Yukimura paused and glanced once more at the card.

_The union of Sanada Genichiroh and Atobe Keigo._

"Yes," he said, smiling softly. "I'll be there."

"Ah. Thank you very much for calling. We look forward to seeing you."

There was a soft click and the dial tone sounded. Yukimura set the phone down on his counter and sighed.

By December 4th, he had to get over the love of his life.

Or kill Atobe Keigo.

--

"Keigo!" Sanada shouted, banging his fist against the oakwood door for the hundredth time in the last five minutes. "Hurry up!"

"I'm not coming out until you leave, Genichiroh," Atobe sang. "It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding!"

"There isn't going to _be_ a wedding if you refuse to get ready for it! The guests have been waiting for twenty minutes now!"

The door swung open.

"I'm ready," Atobe announced. Sanada's jaw dropped, and behind Atobe, Oshitari chuckled.

"He looks good, hmm, Sanada?"

"Uh, um, yes," Sanada stammered, fumbling for the right words. Atobe grinned.

"Awestruck, Genichiroh? I must say, you look very handsome yourself."

Sanada continued to gape until Oshitari gave him a soft push toward the set of double-doors.

"Come on, you two. Go get married."

--

The doors swung open and the rustle of clothing echoed through the hall as the crowd rose to their feet in anticipation. Oshitari stepped through the doors and bowed graciously.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it was my duty to beg you to rise to your feet, but seeing as you have already done so, I have no further purpose."

With that, he stepped to the side, a small smile playing about his lips. A bow was pulled across strings and the hall filled with the sounds of a violin as Sanada and Atobe entered the room. An audible gasp echoed among the crowd as they proceeded regally down the aisle, their backs straight, eyes staring forward.

They had chosen to walk down the aisle together after briefly considering having Oshitari give Atobe away. They decided against that after Shishido pointed out how it would display to absolutely everybody present that Atobe bottomed. Walking down together seemed the only other option.

They had also chosen to skip over the idea of "best man." Atobe had insisted that none of the men he knew lived up to the standards of "best man," and after Sanada said he didn't really care either way, the executive decision was made.

So they stood together at the alter alone, save for the priest - a tall, bespectacled old man in flowing purple robes with an equally fluid voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the unity of Sanada Genichiroh and Atobe Keigo."

In the third row, fourth seat to the right, Yukimura shifted slightly and looked away from the enraptured couple. Sanada looked so utterly and completely happy, as if he had found the missing piece to a puzzle he had been trying to complete his whole life.

Which he had, Yukimura supposed. As much as he hated to admit it, Atobe completed his best friend.

"...'Till death do you part?" The priest smiled gently at Atobe, who nodded calmly and repeated, "I do."

Yukimura swallowed and glanced from Atobe, to Sanada, to the priest and back again. The priest's lips were moving, but Yukimura could hardly hear him over the furious beating of his own heart. Then the priest stopped and gave Sanada the same encouraging smile and Yukimura felt himself slide forward in his chair, hands gripping the edge of the seat, feet pressed firmly against the ground as if he was about to leap up.

"I do," Sanada said, almost smiling, and the priest stepped back as the couple leaned in to kiss. The crowd erupted into applause, but Yukimura found himself unable to move. People were rising to their feet, whistling and cheering all around him. When Yukimura finally struggled into a standing position, Sanada and Atobe were bowing respectfully to the priest, who looked confused and offered a hand instead. The ceremony had been conducted in English, in respect to the various business partners and friends Atobe and Sanada had invited from around the world.

Yukimura felt someone poke him in the back and turned around. Kirihara gave him a big grin.

"I have no idea what they were saying, but fukubuchou looks happy!" he said, breaking once more into applause. Yanagi gave Yukimura a sympathetic smile and wrapped an arm around Kirihara's shoulders. Yukimura smiled back and turned toward Sanada and Atobe, who were beginning to make their way back down the aisle.

"That went well," Atobe murmured, glancing up at Sanada with a wide grin.

"Mmm, flawless," Sanada replied, giving Atobe's hand a squeeze. "Now we just have to make it through the reception and we're off scot free."

Atobe laughed and wrenched open the thick oak door, slipping through and pausing to allow Sanada time to follow.

"Speaking of the reception, we better hurry over there. We need to be ready to greet guests."

"Your wish is my command," Sanada said solemnly, but he stopped in his tracks and beckoned for Atobe to do the same. "Come here," he ordered. Atobe raised his eyebrows and obeyed. Sanada grabbed the shorter man's hands and pulled him into a deep kiss.

"I love you," he murmured, running his hand through Atobe's hair and pulling him close.

"You too," Atobe whispered. "Now let go of me so we can get our asses over to the reception hall."

Sanada rolled his eyes and gave Atobe a gentle push.

"Clearly I made a mistake in thinking you and I shared something, here," he said, gesturing to the space between them. "I'm evidently just an accessory. _Arm candy_," he drawled, starting off down the hall toward the reception room. Atobe snorted and followed.

--

The reception hall was already buzzing with excited chatter by the time Atobe and Sanada made their entrance as the guests discussed the ceremony. The moment they appeared, however, the pair was surrounded by friends offering their congratulations. Only the chiming of the dinner bell managed to quell the storm. The guests slid into their seats as Sanada assumed a place at the head of the table, beside Atobe.

"Err, ladies and gentlemen," Sanada began, looking around uncertainly. "On the behalf of myself and Keigo, I would like to thank you all for coming today. We thank you for your support, your acceptance, and your friendship, and we look forward to spending many more years together with you all."

He took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles against the table.

"As some of you know, Keigo and I met under fairly extraordinary circumstances. He was attending a high school tennis exhibition match, where I was representing my former school. I was ill that day, and fainted just after my match. Atobe, who had been quite taken with my play style, decided to take me under his wing. I was treated by his person physician."

Sanada glanced over at Ootori, who blushed and smiled.

"From there, things got complicated," Sanada continued. "In less than two weeks we went from strangers to enemies to what you could call friends, although I suppose it might be a stretch."

A few laughs echoed through the hall.

"And then we lost it. And for three long years I did everything I could to forget about it, to push Keigo and everything that came with him out of my mind. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I couldn't."

Sanada rolled his shoulders back and turned to face Atobe.

"Keigo, remember that night in the stadium, after your show? I told you that I loved you, that I'd loved you since the day we met, and that I would love you forever. I admitted that I had tried to stop, but that I couldn't. I told you it was love at first sight."

Atobe blinked furiously to stop the tears from falling.

"And I can't think of any other way to tell you how much you mean to me other than to remind you of that night. Those three years without you were like a living hell for me, Keigo. I couldn't make it through that again. I never want to try. I love you. You are everything to me. Words can't possibly begin to touch on how happy it makes me that you have agreed to spend the rest of your life with me."

Rather abruptly, Sanada sat down and took a long gulp of water. The room was silent for a moment, and then, as if someone had pushed a button, the guests broke into wild applause. Sanada blushed and gave Atobe a quick kiss on the cheek.

Eventually the applause died down and Atobe rose to his feet.

"I'm sorry to say that nothing I prepared could possibly live up to the standards Genichiroh just set, so I'm going to keep my piece short." He cleared his throat. "I fell in love with Genichiroh during the tennis match he mentioned earlier. I fell in love with his determination and his drive and his skill. I fell in love with the way he moved so purposefully and elegantly. I fell in love with the way he craved victory. I fell in love with the way he achieved victory. From that day forth I never stopped loving him. I never will. Thank you."

He sat down, nodding politely and smiling at the round of avid applause.

"May I speak?"

The voice echoed from somewhere down the table, and there was the sound of a chair being pushed back. Sanada glanced around and stopped short when his eyes settled on none other than Yukimura Seiichi. He felt Atobe stiffen.

"My name is Yukimura Seiichi, and I was the captain of the tennis team on which Sanada played throughout high school. I am also the reason that Sanada and Atobe were forced to spend those three years apart."

An awkward silence descended over the table until Yukimura continued.

"In seventh grade I fell in love with Sanada for many of the same reasons that Atobe did a few years later. His passion and his drive inspired me. He was my beacon of light in times of weakness.

"Sanada admired me for my tennis and my motivation. I used this admiration to lead him to believe that he was in love with me. And so for four years, I indulged myself in his company, all the while thinking to myself that if I could just hold on, that maybe, one day, Sanada would truly fall in love with me, too.

"Unfortunately that day never came for me. Instead, it came for Atobe. I could see it in Sanada's eyes almost immediately. Everything I felt for him he was feeling for Atobe. It crushed me to no end. I was angry, hurt, and in denial. I refused to believe that Sanada had found someone else. And when the time came to let him go, I didn't. I held on until it was a moment too late. And that caused him and Atobe three years of unhappiness. For that, Sanada, and Atobe, I'm sorry. I know that you are angry... Furious. I know that you cannot and will not forgive me. Sanada... I love you. And knowing that I hurt you is more than I can bear. Atobe... I've never forgotten the message you left me. I await your revenge with bated breath. I wish the both of you the best of luck in the future and all the happiness in the world."

With that, he sat down. The hall remained silent. Sanada glanced at Atobe, who was staring intently at his plate. Then Sanada rose to his feet and began to clap. Atobe glanced up at him before shaking his head with a slight laugh and joining him. Before long, the entire hall was on their feet, clapping. Yukimura blushed and shrugged awkwardly.

The rest of the reception passed quickly and uneventfully, and as the guests filed out, Sanada and Atobe stood by the doors, thanking them for coming.

"Congrats, Genichiroh," Niou drawled, as he and Yagyuu approached the front of the line. "That was cute."

"I wish you two much happiness," Yagyuu said, nodding curtly. Sanada thanked them both, and turned to address Yanagi and Kirihara, who were coming up behind Niou and Yagyuu.

"Renji, Akaya. Thank you for attending."

"Thank you for the invitation," Yanagi said, smiling. "I'm happy to see that things worked out well for you, Genichiroh."

Sanada bowed, and the pair continued out the door. He felt a hand on his arm, and straightened. Atobe smirked up at him.

"I was lonely over there," he said. Sanada chuckled and bowed respectfully to the next departing couple.

"I can fix that," he said, wrapping one arm around Atobe and squeezing for a moment before letting go.

"Good," Atobe replied, reaching out to shake a young man's hand. Sanada didn't recognize him. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Moser."

Sanada turned to greet the next guest, but froze momentarily when he found himself staring into Yukimura's face.

"Ehr, Yukimura... Thank you for coming," he sputtered, bowing. Yukimura nodded and bowed back.

"Thank you very much for the invitation," he said softly. "It was a lovely ceremony."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Atobe said suddenly, to Sanada's surprise. "Thank you for your speech at dinner. It was quite eloquent."

Sanada's eyebrows shot up and he glanced down at Atobe, who was standing with stiff shoulders. Yukimura looked equally shocked, but managed a polite smile.

"Thank you for letting me speak," he said. "It meant a great deal to me."

"Mm." Atobe nodded. "We hope to see you again in the near future."

"Ah... Yes," Yukimura bowed again and disappeared out the door.

"Keigo, what was that?" Sanada muttered, shaking the hand of yet another anonymous guest.

Atobe shrugged.

"_Love is a product of chemistry and intrigue,_" he whispered, twisting the thin gold band around his finger. Sanada smiled.

"_And forgiveness._"


End file.
